


A Study in Deception and Devotion

by katfevre



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Falling In Love, Friendship/Love, Sherlock Series 3 Spoilers, Sherlock Series 4 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-20 19:35:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11927799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katfevre/pseuds/katfevre
Summary: Sherlolly Fic Exchange 2017Prompt:  Molly is pregnant, Sherlock doesn't know the baby is his (this can be for any reason, though I'd like Molly's motives to come from a caring place -- maybe she doesn't know it's his either???)Angst, romance or humour are all fine, as are any additional characters necessary (again, except Sally Donovan). Any rating. Do not want the story to end in Sherlolly Just Good Friends, they must be in a romantic relationship and MADLY in love.





	1. Another Sign of Three (Molly)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OhAine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhAine/gifts).



> Events take place post TSoT/ pre HLV

Molly stared at the plastic stick in her hand where two pink lines confirmed what she already suspected.  “How could you let this happen?” she asked her reflection in the bathroom mirror accusingly.  Her reflection stared back at her with a _No shit...Sherlock_ expression.

* * *

 **_3 weeks earlier at John and Mary’s wedding_ **  

Molly watched as Sherlock slipped out of the reception unnoticed by everyone except her.  She continued dancing, forcing a smile and telling herself she should focus on the man in front of her, her fiancé, and stop thinking about the man who’d just left the room without a word or even a glance at her all evening.

Seconds later the peppy tune faded into a love song.

“Mrs. Hudson, would you care to dance?” Tom asked jovially, holding out his hand to the older woman.

Mrs. Hudson hesitated.  “Do you mind Molly?”

“No, not at all.  Honestly!  I could use a break from this dancing fool,” she teased.

Tom winked at Molly as he took Mrs. Hudson’s hand and began to guide her across the floor.  Molly smiled back at him before turning to make her way off the dance floor in search of some refreshment.

After snatching the last champagne flute from a server headed back to the kitchen, she leaned against the window nearest the exit.  She sipped her champagne slowly and watched the guests for a bit before glancing out the window at the gardens.  She caught a glimpse of a tall figure in a high collared coat meandering amongst the hedges.

“What are you doing hiding out over here?” Lestrade asked, plopping down at an empty table next to where Molly stood, a beer bottle in his hand.

“Just taking it all in,” Molly said with a sigh before finishing off the last of her champagne.

“Yep, Mary and John went all out,” he agreed.  “And everything turned out alright in the end.  I know you were worried about Sherlock’s best man speech but I think he did a damn good job considering.  Where is he anyway?”

Molly shrugged her shoulders before glancing out the window again.

“I thought for sure he’d be cutting a rug.  Mrs. Hudson said he’s been rattling her light fixtures all week practicing his dance moves,” Lestrade said with a chuckle.  “She said she even walked in on John and Sherlock…”

“Excuse me Greg,” Molly cut him off.  “If Tom comes looking for me, please tell him I’ve gone to the ladies.”

“Sure,” Lestrade said, shaking his now empty beer bottle at a passing server.

Molly set her empty glass down on the table and slipped out the exit and then out the front door of the hotel.  She ignored the chill in the spring air as she darted down the sidewalk toward the gardens.  Her heart was racing.  She walked quickly, focusing on each step forward in order to keep her brain from thinking about what she was really doing.  It didn’t take long for her to get turned around in the maze of hedges.

“You’re such an idiot,” Molly chastised herself.

“Excuse me,” a deep voice called from the shadows.  “I hope you’re not talking about me.”

Molly jumped before calling out, “Sherlock?”

“Molly, what are you doing out here?”

“Oh, just getting some fresh air.”

Sherlock stared at her with a look of doubt.

“Oh alright, I came out here to check on you.”

“To check on me?  Why?”

“Well, um...I saw you leave and then...um...later I noticed you were out here in the garden and I thought maybe you’d like some company…I worried you were maybe feeling lonely or sad…”

“Why would I be sad?”

“Well, your best friend just got married and...”

“So?”

“Well, things will be different now, won’t they?”

“No,” Sherlock snapped defensively.

Molly didn’t say anything else.  Her brain had gone into full on _You really are an idiot, Molly_ mode.

“Yes, well, maybe you’re right.  I am feeling a bit sad,” Sherlock sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly.  “You always see through me.  You seem to know what I’m feeling even when I’m hiding my emotions from myself.”

“Yes, well…” Molly giggled nervously, pleased at his comment but not quite sure what to say next.

“So what did you think of my speech? Rumor has it you were worried,” Sherlock teased, clearly changing the subject.

“What? Who told you? Greg?”

“Who’s Greg?  Mrs. Hudson told me, of course. She loaned me a book.”  He grinned broadly, quite pleased with himself.

“I thought it was a very good speech,” she finally answered, knowing her words didn’t do justice to how moved she’d been by some of his words.

“Yes, well, John is the first friend I’ve had in a long time.  I didn’t want to muck it up.”

Molly tried to ignore the sting of his words.  She knew he didn’t think of her the way she thought of him, or the way she used to think of him, she corrected herself.  Even so, she thought he at least counted her as a friend, but apparently not.

“I meant what I said.  John is one of the best men I’ve ever known and I’m better for knowing him.  He understands who I am.  He knows the worst side of me and yet still sees the best in me.”

“He’s not the only one,” Molly mumbled.  

“He says things won’t change but I do realize that it will be different without him living at 221B.  I’m sure he’ll do his best to accommodate our work, to accommodate me, but his time and his obligations will be divided.  I know I will always be second, and I should be second,” he added with a tremor in his voice.

Molly reached to rest a comforting hand on his arm.

“Don’t get me wrong.  I don’t begrudge them their happiness.  I love Mary.  I love John.  I’ve never thought much about romantic entanglements, but knowing them, seeing them together...they belong together.  But look at me rambling on, you should be back inside enjoying the celebration instead of out here listening to me moan.”

“Sherlock,” Molly hesitated, stepping closer to him.  “I know you’re grateful and surprised that John calls you his friend…”

“His best friend,” Sherlock corrected.

“Yes, his best friend.  But I hope you know that you have other friends too, like Mary...and Mrs. Hudson...and me,” she added, her voice getting softer with each word.  She shivered, pulling her hand away from Sherlock to wrap her arms around herself.

Sherlock immediately removed his Belstaff and draped it across Molly’s shoulders.  She slid her arms into the sleeves and hugged the coat to her.  She would never admit how many times she had fantasized about wearing that coat.

“Sorry, I should have done that sooner,” he apologized.

“No need to be sorry.  I’m the one out here in this silly summer dress.”

“I don’t think your dress is silly at all.  It’s lovely.  Yellow suits you.  It’s like a ray of sunshine and that’s just what you are.  You’ve always been a ray of sunshine in my life.”

Molly felt her cheeks burning, embarrassed but pleased by his sweet words.  She ducked her head, grateful that she was mostly hidden by the shadows of the night.

“It really is a lovely dress and you’re lovely in it, but I’m not so sure about that bow,” he said tugging at it gently.

Molly gasped at the offense and pushed him away from her.  “Why do you have to make fun of me?  Especially when you were just being so pleasant!”

Sherlock reached for her and pulled her even closer than she was before.  She kept her head turned away from him.  He reached a hand out to grasp her chin and gently forced her to look back at him.  She glared at him but the expression on his face was such a mixture of apology and adoration that her harsh expression instantly melted into a shy smile.

"You have such a lovely smile,” he said so softly she wasn’t quite sure if she heard him or if she only imagined it.  Then he released her chin, his hand brushing the side of her face, his thumb tracing the outline of her lower lip.

When thinking about that moment later, she couldn’t remember if he leaned down to her or if she reached up to him, maybe they both moved toward each other like magnets.  All she could remember was suddenly feeling his lips pressed against hers, his hands holding her face.  They were fused together for only seconds, a fire quickly spreading from her lips, down her chest, and across her arms to her fingertips.

When their lips parted, Sherlock began to mumble an apology, which Molly quickly silenced by kissing him again and then pulling him closer to her in a tight embrace, slipping her fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck and whispering “Shhh” in his ear.  She felt his body relax in her arms, his arms wrapping around her back, holding her, pulling her even more tightly to him, eliminating any space between them.

Molly could faintly hear the music from the reception and she knew Sherlock could hear it too because he had already begun to slowly sway them back and forth to the beat.  Molly rested her head on Sherlock’s chest, one arm wrapped around his waist and the other around his neck.  She cleared her mind of any thoughts and allowed herself to be swept away in the surreal moment.

“Molly,” he finally whispered after two songs had ended.

She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, not wanting to wake up from this dream.

“Molly,” he continued.  “I know I have no right to ask this, and you have every right to tell me no, but would you want to come with me to my hotel room?”

She felt his body stiffen up again, as if bracing himself for the slap he deserved.

Molly slowly and reluctantly let go of Sherlock, whispering “Yes” as she twined her fingers in his and led him back toward the hotel.  When they reached the hotel entrance, Molly slipped off the Belstaff and handed it back to Sherlock.  

“Just in case,” she said with a twinge of guilt.  “You should probably go in first and I’ll follow in a few minutes.”

He nodded in agreement and then leaned in to steal another quick kiss before whispering his room number in her ear, his warm breath tickling her neck and turning her now warm skin to gooseflesh.  He released her hand, letting his fingers slowly slide from between hers, not breaking eye contact with her until after their fingers had parted.

Molly watched from the doorway as he crossed the lobby confidently and then climbed the stairs two at a time. She watched until he disappeared and then she followed his path across the lobby.  As she passed the doorway to the reception she couldn’t stop herself from taking a peek.  She ducked behind a ficus covered in soft white Christmas lights.  Mrs. Hudson was leading a Conga line with Tom right behind her, followed by Mary, John, Janine, and several other guests.  Lestrade was still over in his corner nursing a beer with three empty bottles in front of him.  Tom didn’t seem to be worried about where she’d disappeared to or how long she’d been gone, Molly told herself, excusing any guilt she was feeling.  She slipped back out the doorway unnoticed and practically ran up the steps towards Sherlock’s room.

Once she found the right room number, she timidly knocked on the door.  The door opened immediately.  She was sure he must have been standing right on the other side waiting for her.  He leaned at the waist, peeking first to the right and then to the left of the hallway before grabbing Molly’s hand and pulling her into the room.  Molly shrieked in surprise at the unexpected movement and jumped when the door slammed behind her.  Her outburst was silenced by Sherlock pressing her up against the door and kissing her firmly.

* * *

Molly hung her head and groaned, even though she couldn’t stop smiling at the memory.  She tossed the pregnancy test in the bathroom trash can before picking up the phone.  Who could she talk to about this?  Sherlock?  Tom?  Mary?  She scrolled through her contacts and selected the number for GYN.


	2. Dreaming in a Drug Den (Sherlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Events take place post TSoT / at the beginning of HLV

“Back again today Shezza?”  A tall, emaciated young man in a hooded sweatshirt greeted Sherlock as he entered the run down two-story building.

Sherlock nodded in acknowledgement before brushing past the young man and climbing the stairs to the second floor.  There were half a dozen people in the room already, some sitting on the floor, some sprawled on the mattresses lying haphazardly around the room.  He made his way across the room to the mattress in the furthest corner.

“Ready!” he shouted as he flopped down on the mattress and waited for the young man at the door to bring him his fix.  It had been a month since John and Mary’s wedding, a month since his night with Molly, and he’d been able to think of little else since then.  He needed to be working, he needed to focus on his current case.

“Magnussen,” he mumbled.

“No, it’s me, Wiggins,” the young man corrected, kneeling down beside Sherlock.  “Are you ready?”

Sherlock pulled up his sleeve and presented his arm.  He just needed to clear his mind, he told himself.  He just needed to stop thinking about her.

* * *

**_The morning after Mary and John’s wedding_ **

Sherlock awoke the next morning feeling well-rested, at least more so than he had in a long time.  He reached across the bed expecting to snuggle up to Molly’s warm body but bolted upright when his hands felt the cold, empty space.  Molly was gone, her yellow bow on the bedside table the only sign that she’d been there.

While he showered, he pondered all the possible reasons Molly might have left without a word.  

_ Maybe she’d been hungry and had gone in search of some breakfast. _

_ Maybe she’d gone to get her things from her own room and was on her way back to him now.   _

_ Maybe she’d gone to break off her engagement to...what was his name...meat dagger? _  Sherlock smiled wickedly.

_ Or maybe, once she’d awoken, she regretted what had happened. _  Sherlock wasn’t smiling anymore.

He dressed quickly and then packed the few items he’d brought into his overnight bag.  He grabbed his phone and typed  _ Molly, where are you?  _ but deleted it, deciding he just needed to find her and talk to her face to face.  He tucked the yellow bow in his coat pocket, grabbing the garment bag with his tux from the closet and leaving the room.

“Hello there handsome,” a woman’s voice called from further down the hallway.

He turned toward her expectantly but barely contained his disappointment when he saw Janine.  “Good morning,” he responded politely.

“Is it?  I’m not so sure.  I got a bit carried away last night,” she said with a grimace. 

“So things didn’t go so well with the young man you were dancing with after all?” Sherlock asked, feigning interest.

“No.  The guy, the tall one... can’t remember his name...the one with the meat dagger theory, started up a bit of a drinking game near the end of the night.  I held my own pretty well, but my dance partner got totally blitzed and wasn’t much use to me after that,” Janine grumbled, lacing her arm through Sherlock’s.  “Headed back to London this morning?”

“Yes, I was just on my way to the front desk to check out,” Sherlock turned in the direction of the stairs.

“Me too.  Do you mind if we take the elevator instead?” Janine asked, already tugging Sherlock in the opposite direction.

“Very well,” he conceded.

Once they turned the corner, they found another couple waiting for the elevator.  Molly’s fiancé was leaning heavily against the wall and moaning.  Molly stood beside him with her back to Janine and Sherlock.  They were each holding on to matching overnight bags on wheels.

“Why does it have to ding so loud?” the fiancé whined as the elevator door opened.

“Why did you have to drink so much?” Molly chastised, giving him a shove into the elevator.

“Good morning,” Janine greeted cheerily, as she and Sherlock joined them in the elevator.

Molly turned to look at them, first glancing at Janine, then at Sherlock, and then at Janine’s arm entwined with Sherlock’s, her eyes opening wider with each glance.  Sherlock felt the urge to push Janine out of the elevator, but then Molly’s fiancé wrapped his arms around Molly, pulling her closer to him and mumbling apologies.  Now Sherlock wanted to push the fiancé out of the elevator.  Instead, he turned his back on Molly and her companion.

“So how are you getting back to London?  Do you have your own car or have you made other arrangements?” Janine asked.

Sherlock found it interesting that Janine seemed completely oblivious to the amount of tension in the air of the elevator; but then, he wondered, if maybe he was the only one feeling the tension.  Clearly Molly had left his hotel room to run straight back to her fiancé like nothing had changed, like last night meant nothing.  Lucky for Molly, it appeared that her fiancé had been so intoxicated that he hadn’t even noticed that she had disappeared for most of the previous evening.

“Hello?  Earth to Sherlock?  Where’d you go?” Janine teased.

“Hmm...what?”

“You spaced out there for a bit.”

Just then the elevator opened, saving Sherlock from having to respond to Janine.

Sherlock stepped out of the elevator, releasing Janine’s arm to let her walk ahead of him and then he stepped to the side to let Molly and her fiancé pass.

“I...I think I forgot something in my room,” Sherlock mumbled to no one in particular before stepping back into the elevator.  He couldn’t bear to watch Molly with her fiancé any longer.  He didn’t want to stand there and watch her walk away from him, especially on the arm of another man.  Just before the doors closed, he saw Molly turn to look back at him with a questioning look or was it an  _ I’m sorry, but you need to move on _ look?  He could never deduce what Molly was thinking and that always left him feeling confused.  As soon as the elevator doors closed, his knees gave way and he felt as if someone had reached in his chest and was squeezing...no...crushing his heart.  He couldn’t breathe.  He couldn’t think.  What was happening?

The elevator doors opened and an unknown couple stood waiting.  They were clearly a newlywed couple by the way they clung to one another and were too busy gazing into one another’s eyes to notice the man sitting inside the elevator.  Sherlock jumped to his feet and pushed past them angrily.  Hadn’t he always known that emotions, especially affection, love, or desire, clouded his judgment and that he needed to avoid them.  Companionship and love were just a distraction from what was most important to him, his work.  Last night he had let his guard down, he had let his sentiment for John and an admiration for his friend’s marital happiness open his mind...open his heart to considering what it would be like to have that type of relationship in his own life.  This was what he’d been pondering when Molly found him in the garden.  She’d found him during a weak moment and he’d given in to the weakness.  He’d been a fool!

As he stood at the hotel desk checking out, he continually surveyed the lobby, but there was no sign of Molly anywhere.  He wasn’t sure if he felt relieved or disappointed.  He stepped out of the hotel, unsure how he was going to get back to London.  He’d ridden to the hotel with John the day before, but John would be headed off with Mary for their honeymoon.  Sherlock hadn’t even thought about how he would get back to Baker Street.  Clearly he had gotten too much in the habit of letting John take care of things.  It had been less than twenty-four hours since the wedding and already too many things were changing.

Just outside the hotel entrance, Janine was just about to get into the back of a limo when she saw Sherlock and called out to him, “Hello again?  Do you need a lift?”

“Yes,” Sherlock accepted without hesitation.

The limo driver, who had been holding the door for Janine, took Sherlock’s night bag and garment bag and stowed them in the boot of the limo.  Janine slid in and Sherlock followed her into the limo.

“This is wonderful!  I do enjoy having some company when I’m travelling.”

Sherlock’s phone vibrated and he retrieved it from his coat pocket.

_ Hi, it’s Molly.  I’m on my way back to London.  We need to talk about last night. _

Sherlock stared at the message.  What was there to talk about?  Last night was in the past and clearly there was no future for them.  Sherlock hit delete before returning the phone to his pocket.

“Everything alright?” Janine asked.

“Everything’s fine,” Sherlock responded sharply.  “Sorry, just a bit of bad news is all.  Nothing important really.”

“Ok.  Well, I suppose you’re wondering how I rate such high-class transportation,” Janine said, spreading her arms to display the interior of the limo.

“Sure,” Sherlock responded, not really caring about her explanation but grateful for the ride and grateful for the distraction.

“My boss was kind enough to lend me his car service for the weekend.”

“That’s nice.  So what is it you do for a living?”  Sherlock decided, if he could keep Janine talking about herself, that, maybe, she wouldn’t ask him any more questions.

“Come on, you’re the great Sherlock Holmes.  Surely you’ve already figured out what I do for a living, along with what I had for breakfast, and where I celebrated my last birthday.”

“What?  No, I haven’t.”  Sherlock didn’t have the energy or the interest to display his deductive skills at the moment.

“I’m only teasing.   Mary was right about your lack of a sense of humor.  Anyway, I’m the personal assistant to one of the most powerful men in England.  I’m sure you’ve heard of him.  Mr. Magnussen owns several newspapers, some here in England and some throughout Europe and even one in the US.  He’s quite brilliant.”

“Magnussen,” Sherlock repeated the name.  Yes, he was sure he’d heard the name before but he couldn’t remember when or why.  Even so, something at the back of his brain was telling him that this was someone who required further investigation. “It must be very interesting working for a man like that.  So what exactly do you do for Mr. Magnussen?” Sherlock prodded, his interest now genuine.

The rest of the drive went by quickly as Janine talked enthusiastically about her job and mentioned all of the important political figures, CEOs, athletes, and celebrities she’d met.  Soon enough the limo was pulling up in front of 221B Baker Street.

“Thanks for the lift,” Sherlock said as he stepped out of the car.

“It was my pleasure.  I enjoyed your company.  You really are a good listener, although, I think, I may have bored you with all of my shop talk.”

“Not at all.  I enjoyed listening.  We should do it again sometime.”

“Really?  Is the famous Sherlock Holmes asking me out on a date?”

“Yes, I believe I am.  Are you free next Friday evening for dinner?”

“Yes, I think that could be arranged,” she replied with a toothy smile.  She stepped out of the car, fishing in her handbag, before pulling out a business card.  “Here.  Call me in two days with details about the time and location.”

“I will,” he said as he took the card.

“I look forward to hearing from you,” she said, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek before returning to the car.

Sherlock closed the limo door and then stood on the sidewalk watching until the limo disappeared around the corner.  He was feeling much better than he had been when he’d left the hotel.  He now had a potential case brewing and he had a date with a woman who could prove to be a very useful source of information for said case.  If Molly was happy with her stupid, meat dagger fiancé, what did it matter to him?  He wasn’t going to let Molly distract him any longer.  

* * *

He had been a fool to think that he could so easily push Molly from his thoughts.  His dalliance with Janine offered some distraction, and he continued to look into Magnussen; but, more often than not, his mind turned toward Molly and their night together.  So he’d decided to take more drastic measures to clear his mind.

As he lay on the dingy mattress, his mind now mostly clear, he began to wonder how long he’d been there.  Had it been a few hours or a few days?  As he pondered whether he should go back home or call Wiggins for another hit, he suddenly recognized a familiar voice.

“Oh, hello John.  I didn’t expect to see you here.  Have you come for me too?”


	3. Lies & Betrayal Part 1 (Molly)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Events take place during HLV

Molly watched as Sherlock walked out the door of her lab.  It had been a fairly uneventful night shift until John had dragged Sherlock into the lab by his collar.  Her hands were still trembling with rage.  She’d just smacked Sherlock across the face, not once, but three times, and it had felt good.  Her rage was fueled by her disappointment in learning he was using again, as well as from her disappointment that he hadn’t contacted her even once in the past month.  Her rage mixed with guilt, worrying that she’d allowed her romantic disappointments to cloud her judgment.  Maybe she should have considered ALL the reasons why he might have avoided contacting her.  She shouldn’t have assumed that the ONLY reason he was avoiding her was because their night together was just a one-time thing for him and nothing more.  Of course, she’d also had plenty of other worries besides Sherlock this past month, what with calling off her engagement and the most recent development that her gynecologist had just confirmed three days earlier.

“Thank you, Molly,” John finally spoke.  “I can’t believe he would do something like this!”  He pounded his fist against the table top, causing the nearby medical instruments to dance.

Molly sunk down onto a nearby stool and dropped her head into her hands, suddenly feeling light headed and queasy.

“Are you ok, Molly,” Mary asked, reaching out a hand to offer a comforting touch.

“Don’t,” Molly pulled away.  “Sorry, I’m barely holding it together and I don’t want to cry at work,” she explained in a hushed tone.  She wished they would all just leave her lab, leave her alone in her own clean and orderly world to sort out her thoughts and feelings.

“Yes, I understand.  Come by the house after work and we can talk then?”

Molly nodded, “I get off in an hour.”  She rubbed the heel of her hand against her eyes to aggressively wipe away the few tears that had escaped.

“So who’s taking me home,” Sherlock asked as he reentered the lab.

“I’ll take Sherlock home,” John explained to Mary.  “If you’ll go find Isaac and take him and this guy home.”

“Where should I take this one?  Surely not back where we found him?”

“No, take him to St. Mungo’s.”

“Oh, I don’t want to go there,” Wiggins whined.

“Or maybe the nearest police station,” John threatened.

“Fine, I’ll go to St. Mungo’s,” Wiggins conceded, jumping down off the counter.

Soon enough Molly was left alone in silence.  She had an hour to ponder how much or how little she would tell Mary.

* * *

 

“Come in, come in,” Mary greeted Molly at her front door with a quick embrace.  “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Yes, how was the honeymoon?” Molly asked as she followed Mary into the living room.

“Oh, it was lovely.  I’ll show you some pictures a bit later, if you’d like.  Go ahead and make yourself comfortable,” she motioned to the couch.  “Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, thank you,” Molly said as she sat down.

Mary disappeared into the kitchen and Molly waited on the couch, nervously twining and untwining her fingers.

A few minutes later, Mary and Molly were seated side by side sipping their tea and making small talk.

“Ok Molly, enough chit chat.  You came here to talk.  So do you want to talk about Tom or Sherlock first?”

“Well, I suppose I should start with Tom.”

“Good.  So when did you two break up?”

“The day after your wedding,” Molly confessed.

“Oh no,” Mary sounded genuinely disappointed.

“No, no, it was for the best.”

“So, am I correct in assuming that you broke it off with him instead of the other way around?”

“Yes, I gave him back the ring as soon as we got back to London.  I did really care for him, but I just didn’t love him enough to marry him.  I couldn’t go through with it, especially...um...especially not after seeing you and John together.”

“So, how did Tom take it?”

“It was bloody awful!  He was so upset.  At first he cried and begged me to reconsider.  Once he realized I couldn’t be persuaded, he accused me of still being in love with Sherlock.”

“Whoa!  What did you say to that?”

Molly turned away from Mary, fearing that her face showed the guilt she felt.  She had neither denied nor acknowledged Tom’s accusation in the moment.  She didn’t want to lie to him but she knew if she told him the truth he might attempt to confront Sherlock.  She knew that Sherlock would win that fight and the last thing she wanted was for the two men she cared for to harm each other, especially because of her.

“Molly, are you...are you in love with Sherlock?” Mary prodded.

“Mary, I need to tell you something but, first, you must promise me that you will tell no one and I mean no one, not even John.  I know it’s not fair of me to ask you to keep secrets from your husband but…”

“I promise,” Mary said firmly.

Molly looked at her friend in dismay.

“Oh, don’t look so shocked.  I know people always say you should be completely honest with your spouse, blah, blah, blah, but that’s just a load of horseshit.  Everyone has secrets and some secrets are best kept secret, for the greater good and all.  Believe me, this won’t be the first secret I’ve kept from John and I’m sure it won’t be the last.”

Molly drew a deep breath and said, “I’m pregnant.”

Mary immediately burst out laughing.

“Why are you laughing?  It’s not funny!”

“Well...it is...it is a bit funny,” Mary said between gasps.  “I mean...I was expecting...ha...I was waiting for some big, dark secret….but...pregnant...I mean...how do you expect to keep that secret?”  Mary took a couple of deep breaths to pull herself together.

“Oh, yes...you’re right...but the pregnancy isn’t the secret...it’s...well...you see...there’s a chance...though it is pretty slim….I mean, Tom and I did have a lot of sex that week...so really, the odds are in his favor....but, you see, there is still a chance...a small chance...but a chance…”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Molly, just spit it out!”

“There’s a chance that it’s Sherlock’s.”

Mary’s jaw hung open, her tea cup frozen halfway to her lips.  She faced Molly but her eyes looked through her.

“Mary...Mary, are you alright?”

Mary nodded slowly and set her teacup down on the coffee table.  “Sorry, I think I’m in a bit of shock.  I really wasn’t prepared...oh my god…”

“Oh Mary, how did this happen?”

“You’re a doctor, Molly.  Surely you know how these things happen,” Mary teased, returning to herself now that she’d gotten past the initial shock.

“That’s not what I meant,” Molly exclaimed, blushing from her neck to her hairline.  “I mean, how could I have let this happen?  How could I have been so stupid?”  And then all the tears she’d been holding in all day suddenly burst out and she began sobbing uncontrollably.

Mary rescued Molly’s tea cup before putting an arm around her friend and offering her a box of tissues.  She rubbed Molly’s back and let her cry until gradually her tears slowed and her sobs softened.

“Ok, I need more details.  You think you’re up for it?”

Molly nodded and then proceeded to tell Mary everything, from the moment she followed Sherlock out into the gardens at the hotel up until the moment John had delivered him into her lab that morning.  Mary listened silently, without judgment, only asking an occasional question for clarification. 

“I’ve made a mess of everything.  What am I going to do?” Molly concluded.

“I think you should go straight to Sherlock and tell him everything you’ve just told me.”

“What?”  Molly didn’t know what she had expected Mary to say, but she definitely hadn’t expected that.

“He loves you, I know it!  He will do the right thing.”  

“But what if the baby is Tom’s?  And the odds are...”

“He won’t care if the child is his or Tom’s, either way, the child is yours and he loves you.”

“How can you be so sure he loves me?  He hasn’t spoken to me since that night.  He hasn’t called, or texted, or stopped by the lab at Bart’s…”

“Have you called him?  Texted him?  Stopped by 221B?”

“I texted him,” Molly defended.

“Once...you said you only texted him once, right?  Maybe he thought you were avoiding him.  You said that he saw you with Tom the next morning.  He probably assumed that you regretted what happened…”

“Well, he was the one with that bridesmaid on his arm, and he wouldn’t make eye contact…”

“Oh, that means nothing!  Janine is a total flirt and Sherlock probably just got trapped in one of her little games.  He probably went along with it just to save face when he saw you with Tom.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I do.  So, are you going to tell him?”  
“I don’t think I should.”

“Why not?”

“Have you forgotten this morning already?  You saw the state he was in!  He has enough to deal with right now.  He needs to get himself clean again.  He doesn’t need the added stress of dealing with a baby, especially when he may not be the father.  Besides, what kind of father would he be with his emotional distance and risky behaviors?”

“Bollocks!  Molly, these are all just excuses you are using to avoid facing your own fears.  You’re afraid it might be Tom’s baby.  You’re afraid it might be Sherlock’s baby.  You’re afraid Sherlock might not love you.  And, as long as you avoid talking to either one of these men, you can continue to hope for what you really want without really doing anything about it.  Molly, it’s time to take action.  Reach for what you truly want because you might just get it.”

Molly’s face softened, her defensive words dying on her lips.  She wished she could feel as confident as Mary about Sherlock’s feelings for her.

“Look, you know what I think, but it’s your decision.  Do what you want to do.  Either way, I’ll keep my promise not to tell anyone for as long as you want me to.”

“Thank you Mary, you’re a good friend.”

“Alright, enough about you,” she teased.  “I have some news of my own.  I’m pregnant too.”

“What?  Really?”

“Yes, I’m just a few weeks further along than you.  So see, you’re not in this alone.  We will get through this together.  And...another plug for you following my advice, hint hint...won’t it be adorable to see both John and Sherlock changing nappies.”

Molly and Mary doubled over with laughter.

“What’s so funny?” John called from the doorway, kicking off his shoes.

“Oh nothing,” Mary smiled, wiping tears from her eyes.  “So how’s Sherlock?”

“Oh he’s great,” John replied sarcastically, falling into the armchair next to the couch.  “You’ll never believe what I’m about to tell you.  Sherlock has a girlfriend!”

“What?” Molly exclaimed.

“And you’ll never guess who it is?” John laughed.

Mary and Molly both stared at him with identical startled expressions.

“It’s your friend Janine, your maid of honor.”

“What?” Mary exclaimed.

“Unbelievable, I know.  If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes…”

“What do you mean you saw it with your own eyes?” Mary demanded.

“I was just at 221B and she came out of his bedroom.”  John paused to let the shocking statement sink in.  “And she was wearing one of his shirts...and nothing else...and then...she joined him in the shower,” John announced with a giddy smile.  He was clearly delighted to be the bearer of such incredible news.  “She called him Sherl.  I saw them kiss,” he added with a shudder.  “She invited us to have dinner with them.  A double date, can you believe it, Mary?”

“I have to go,” Molly said, her face as white as a ghost, as she bolted out of the room.

“Molly, wait,” Mary called.

Molly froze with her hand on the front doorknob.

“Molly, please, come back and we can talk…”

“I can’t...I can’t,” Molly said between gasping sobs before pulling the door open.

Molly heard John ask, “Is everything alright?”

Molly heard Mary reply, “No, everything is definitely not alright.”

Molly kept walking.


	4. Lies & Betrayal Part 2 (Molly)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Events take place during HLV

“John,” Molly cried out as she approached him in the waiting room.

“Molly,” John responded, standing up from his chair and pulling her into a tight embrace.  “He’s...he’s...been shot,” he tried to explain, his voice trembling.

Molly stepped out of the embrace, taking one of John’s hands as they both sat down.

“How did you know to comer here?  I should have called you.  I’m so sorry...”  Tears now fell freely down his face.

“It’s ok.  It’s going to be ok.  Becky, one of the ER nurses, called me.  She knows Sherlock and I...she knows we’re...she knows he’s a friend.”

“He’s still in surgery.  It’s been a quite a while...what if...what if…”  
“It will be ok,” Molly reassured.  “He’s strong.  He will pull through.”  She’d been repeating those same phrases in her head, like a mantra, ever since Becky had called.

“Dr. Watson...Dr. Hooper,” a man in scrubs approached them.

“Dr. Bell,” Molly said with relief, knowing he was the best surgeon on staff.  

“We almost lost him, but he’s made it through the surgery.”

An almost primal cry came from deep within John as he squeezed Molly’s hand even tighter.

“We will monitor him closely and see how he does through the night.”

“Can we...can we see him?” Molly asked.

“Yes, that will be fine, but he’s not awake.  We’ve given him something for the pain and to help him rest.  He was conscious briefly.  He asked for someone by name when he awoke.”

“He did?  Who?” John asked.

“Mary...he said the name Mary.  Do you know who he was asking for?”

“Mary?  Mary is my wife’s name,” John said with nervous laughter.  “That’s odd.  Why would he ask for Mary?”

“There’s no telling,” Molly said with a shrug.  “People say the strangest things when they’re under the influence of anesthesia.”

“Speaking of Mary, I should give her a ring.  I texted her when I first got here but I haven’t heard back from her yet.  Excuse me,” John said, pulling out his cell phone and heading down the corridor.

“I’ll show you to Mr. Holmes’ room,” Dr. Bell offered.

Molly followed gratefully, listening as he explained in more detail how the surgery had gone.  Molly forced herself to listen as if the surgeon were speaking about any other patient and not Sherlock, so that she could keep her emotions in check.  It took every ounce of strength she had not to give in to the terrifying thought of losing Sherlock.  Even if he didn’t love her, even if they weren’t friends, even if he wasn’t a part of her life, even if he never spoke to her again, she still needed him to be alive and well somewhere in this world.

“This is it,” Dr. Bell nodded toward the door.  “Just let the nurses know if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” Molly mumbled as she looked through the glass window in the door.  She stared at the body lying in the bed connected to various tubes and machines.  She pushed the door open and moved toward the bed, staring at Sherlock’s pale, handsome face.  His chest rose and fell, each of his breaths eased the ache in Molly’s heart.  She sunk into the chair next to his bed and wrapped both of her hands around one of his, pulling his fingers to her lips.  Her tears fell silently as she listened to the steady beat of the heart monitor.

“Sherlock...you listen to me...you have to be ok…you have to...please, please….don’t you dare leave me...especially when the last time I saw you we...I...even though you deserved it...please, don’t let that be the last time…”

“Molly,” he mumbled. “You saved me.”

“What?” Molly’s head snapped up.  “Sherlock?”

She waited for him to speak again but he was still unconscious.  She smiled as she remembered the first time she’d heard him talk in his sleep, the first time he’d used her flat as a bolt-hole.  He’d shouted,  _ “Don’t touch the toes in the freezer!” _

Sometime later, John and Mary showed up.

“How’re you doing?” Mary asked, pulling Molly up out of her chair into an embrace.

“How’s he doing?” John asked.

“Still asleep, but he’s been mumbling some.”

“Mumbling?  What’s he been saying?” Mary demanded.

“Nothing that makes any sense really, just random words.  He said liar and stupid and then not long after he said Magnussen and then Redbeard.  The last thing he said was something about a queen and a mind palace.  Does any of that mean anything to you, John?”

“Well he does tend to be a bit of a drama queen, so perhaps he’s referring to himself,” John laughed weakly before continuing, “Magnussen is the man Sherlock’s been investigating.  He was in Magnussen’s office when he got shot.”

“Do you think Magnussen shot him?” Molly asked.

“No, it wasn’t Magnussen.  Someone else was in that room…”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Mary interrupted.  “How’re you doing Molly?  When’s the last time you ate?  When’s the last time you slept?”

“I...I don’t know.  I was about to clock out when I got a call that Sherlock had been brought in for emergency surgery.”

“But that’s been hours ago now.  Molly, you really need to eat, and then rest, especially since...well, ummm...John, would you please take Molly home?”

“No,” Molly protested.  “I can’t...I can’t leave him.  Mary, you know I can’t...”

“Yes, ok...ok...but at least let John take you to get some food.”

“I can go get something and bring it…”

“John,” Mary cut him off.  “Please take Molly to get some food,” she said through clenched teeth, giving him a knowing look.

“Right...ok.  Let’s go Molly,” John nodded dutifully, wrapping an arm around Molly and guiding her out of the room.

* * *

**_An hour later_ **

“Oh hello, John,” Janine greeted as John and Molly stepped out of the elevator.

“Janine?” John said as he awkwardly accepted her hug, a cup of coffee in one hand and a box of donuts in the other. 

Molly stood silently next to John, holding a cup of coffee in each hand, one for her and one for Mary.  She debated whether or not she could just keep on walking and leave John to talk to Janine on his own.  She had no desire to hear anything Janine might say.

“How are you?  How’s the head?” John finally asked.

“Oh, I’ll live.  You come to see Sherl?  I’ve just been visiting him myself.”

“Is he awake?” Molly asked, disappointed that he had awoken to find Janine in his room and not her.  Then she reminded herself that Janine was his girlfriend, so Sherlock probably preferred finding Janine by his bedside instead of her.

“Yep, I’m afraid so, the lying, manipulative bastard.  Oh, I’m only joking...mostly.  Look at the two of you staring at me as if I just kicked your puppy.  So where’s Mary?  Didn’t she come with you?”

“Wasn’t she in Sherlock’s room?” John asked.

“No, and I was just in there.”

“John, I’m going to head on,” Molly attempted to excuse herself.

Just then the elevator opened again.

“It was good seeing you John.  Give my love to Mary,” Janine said before stepping into the elevator.

“Yes...it was...nice seeing you again Janine,” John called after her.

Once the elevator doors shut, Molly asked John, “Did she just call Sherlock a manipulative bastard?”

“Yep, and justifiably so.  Their whole relationship was just a sham,” John explained.

“What?  How do you mean?”

“Sherlock was just using her to get to Magnussen.  Janine worked for Magnussen.  I still can’t believe he bought a ring,” he said, stopping in front of Sherlock’s door.

“A ring?  Sherlock bought a ring?  For what?  For Janine?  Do you mean an engagement ring?  Did Sherlock actually propose to her?” Molly hissed.

“Yes...no...sort of...he didn’t actually say the words, but, he definitely implied it.  It was all just an act, but he had me fooled…”

“Oh for God’s sake, quit gossiping outside my door!  I can see you through the window,” Sherlock shouted grumpily.

When Molly and John turned to look at him, Sherlock smiled and waved his fingers at them mockingly.

“Did you bring me a present?” he asked nodding at the box in John’s hand.

“Donut,” John offered, setting down his coffee cup and opening the box.

“You know I don’t eat when I’m working,” Sherlock snapped.

“Working?  You’re in the bloody hospital!”

“I’ll take one,” Molly said, shoving half a donut in her mouth and grabbing two more.

“Whoa, you might want to slow down there Molly.  You’ve put on four pounds since I last saw you.  I’ve read that food is often the drug of choice after a breakup, but Tom is hardly worth ruining your figure over.”

“Oh, shut up, you,” Molly snapped defiantly, stuffing the second donut in her mouth.

“Since you last saw her...don’t be ridiculous!  Four pounds since you last saw her...you last saw her only yesterday morning,” John defended.

“Oh, right,” Sherlock said, shutting his eyes and grimacing in pain as he readjusted his position in his hospital bed.  “I meant since the last time I saw her before that...at your wedding.”

Molly blushed remembering how much of her he’d seen the night of John’s wedding, but her embarrassment was quickly followed by a surge of anger.  “So you do actually remember that night do you?” she snapped.

“Yes, I remember every detail of that night AND the next morning,” Sherlock snapped back, his heart rate monitor suddenly increasing.

Molly started choking on the donut in her mouth.

“Are you ok, Molly?  Do you need John to perform the Heimlich maneuver?  You really should pace yourself when inhaling a dozen donuts.”

Molly held up a finger to silence him before taking a sip of her coffee.  Her face contorted painfully as she forced herself to swallow.

“Molly, are you ok?” John finally asked.  He had been watching the exchange between Molly and Sherlock as if he were watching a tennis match.

“This coffee is spoiled.  It tastes bloody awful.”  Molly held the cup at arm’s length as if it were poison.

“I ordered it just the way you asked for...decaf skinny hazelnut latte,” John said, taking the cup from her and sniffing it before taking a sip.  “It tastes fine to me.”

“Skinny,” Sherlock scoffed.  “And why is John ordering coffee for you?”

Was that a look of jealousy on Sherlock’s face, Molly wondered.

“And since when do you drink decaf?”

“Stop it, just stop it!” Molly exploded.  “If you weren’t in hospital...if you hadn’t almost just died...I would throttle you…”

“I’d like to see you try,” Sherlock teased.

Molly suddenly made a dash for the bedside toilet, emptying the entire contents of her breakfast into the basin.

“Sherlock, not good!” John snapped.

“John, I think you’d better examine Molly.  It looks like she’s caught a bug.”

“A bug?  You think she’s caught a bug?” John asked incredulously.

“Yes, she’s clearly suffering from a stomach bug, or it might be the beginnings of the flu.  You’re the doctor!  Do you need me to do your job for you?”

“By all means, go ahead and play doctor with Molly,” John taunted.

“I’m fine,” Molly protested.

“Molly, I’m taking you home,” John said, taking her arm.  “Sherlock needs his rest.”

“Thank you, John,” Sherlock said before closing his eyes.

Once John and Molly were in the elevator he asked her, “So how far along are you?”

“What?  I’m not...” Molly attempted to lie.

“Increased appetite, change of taste perception, nausea...clear symptoms...signs of pregnancy.  All the same signs that Sherlock recognized to deduce that Mary...that my wife was pregnant.  Clearly, due to his recent near death experience, Sherlock’s observation skills aren’t up to par or, perhaps, when it comes to you, his observation skills tend to fall short.”

“When it comes to me?  What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Molly, I know I’m nowhere near as brilliant as Sherlock Holmes, but I am observant in some ways, just as Sherlock is quite blind in others.  I know that he cares for you, more than he cares for anyone, except maybe himself.”

“Me?  You’re his best friend.”

“Exactly!  As his best friend, I know him pretty damn well.  Molly, I honestly don’t know if Sherlock is capable of a normal romantic relationship; but, I think, what he feels for you is as close as he’s ever come, and I think it absolutely terrifies him.”

Molly looked away, swallowing the lump that was rising in her throat.  Why was it that Mary and John were so convinced that Sherlock loved her, and she was so sure he didn’t?  Was it possible she was the one who was blind?

The elevator opened and they both stepped out into the hospital lobby.

“So how far along are you?” John asked again.

“A month,” Molly whispered.

“And Tom?”

Molly just shook her head.  She didn’t want to lie to John, but she couldn’t tell him the truth.

“Are you going to tell Sherlock or should I?”

“Don’t...please don’t.” 

“How do you plan on keeping this a secret from him?  In another month or so it will be obvious enough that even Anderson will know you’re expecting.”

Molly grinned at John’s joke, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“And why would you even want to keep it a secret?  You’re having a baby, Molly!  That’s wonderful news.  You should be shouting it from the rooftops.  You’ll be a wonderful mother.”

Molly reached out her hand and placed it on John’s cheek.  “You’re a good friend, John...to Sherlock and to me.  I’ll tell him, I promise.  I just need some time to sort some things out.  Ok?”

“OK,” John nodded.

* * *

**_Later that evening_ **

“Hi Mary,” Molly answered her phone.

“Molly, have you seen Sherlock?”

“Yes, I saw him earlier today at the hospital.  Where did you disappear to?”

“No, I mean, have you heard from him recently?  Has he called you or been to your flat in the last hour?”

“No, he’s in hospital.”  Molly was confused.

“No, he’s left the hospital, and no one knows where he’s gone.”

“What?”

“I thought he might have contacted you.”

“No, I haven’t heard from him,” Molly said.

“Molly, will you call me if you hear from him?”

“Yes, sure.”

“Promise me?”

“Yes, I promise.”

Mary hung up the phone without a good-bye.

Molly went to her kitchen and filled the tea kettle.  After setting it on the stove, she pulled two cups from the cupboard and set them on her kitchen table.  He had used her flat as a bolt-hole before, so there was a chance he might actually show up at her door again.  If he did, she decided, she would follow Mary’s advice and tell him everything.

Two hours and three cups of tea later, she knew Sherlock wasn’t coming.  She also knew she was a fool to keep hoping that their night together meant more to Sherlock than just temporary solace during a lonely moment.  Sherlock would never want her...need her...for more than what she already was...his pathologist.

She picked up the phone and selected Stamford’s number from her contacts.

“Hello, Mike.  Sorry to call you so late.  I’ve been thinking; and, if your offer still stands, I accept.”


	5. Godparents with Human Emotions Part 1 (Sherlock & Molly)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Events take place during T6T

**_8 months later (Sherlock)_ **

John had invited him over, he couldn’t remember why, but he had said it was important.

“Mary,” he greeted happily, hugging her when she opened the door.

“Sherlock, how are you?” Mary asked as she waved him into her home.

“I’m FAB-u-lous,” he trilled, skipping over the doorstep.

“What’s got into you,” she laughed.

“Nothing, it’s just a great day to be alive,” he sang.

“Shhh,” John hissed, coming down the stairs with a sleeping baby in his arms.

“It’s ok, John,” Mary defended.  “Sherlock’s just a bit overly cheerful today,” she added, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Oh, right,” John answered knowingly.

“What?  Why are you saying that...like that...and what are you doing with your eyebrows?” He pointed at Mary accusingly.

“Oh, I don’t know.  We invited Mrs. Hudson and you...and  _ Molly _ over and I thought that might be the reason you seem so cheerful.”

“You think I’m cheerful because you invited me over?  I didn’t know I needed a special invitation to come over.  You told me I was welcome to come by anytime I felt like it.”  Sherlock pouted.

“No, I don’t mean because of the invite per se, but because of who else was invited,” Mary continued to tease.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he huffed.

“Oh, quit pretending to be obtuse,” John grumbled.  “You know she’s referring to your pathologist.”

“She’s not  _ my _ pathologist!” he shouted.

The baby in John’s arms began to whimper softly.

“Sherlock,” John growled.

“She’s  _ not _ my pathologist,” Sherlock whispered.  “She abandoned me.  Went off to some university in Dublin to play professor or something.”  Sherlock pulled out his cell phone and began texting furiously, completely ignoring Mary’s next comment.

“Play professor?  You really are an ass sometimes, Sherlock,” Mary chastised.

A few moments later the doorbell rang and Mrs. Hudson was invited into the Watson’s home.  She greeted Sherlock with a motherly pat on the shoulder.  He ignored her but still noticed her eye roll as she turned toward John to coo over the baby, who was now awake but luckily wasn’t crying.

The next time the doorbell rang, Sherlock’s thumbs froze.  He listened for the familiar voice of his path...no...not his.

“Hello everyone,” Molly called out as she stepped into the living room carrying a gift bag and a bottle of champagne. No, it was sparkling grape juice, Sherlock observed.

Sherlock felt his pulse quicken and began typing again, focusing on his phone as if it were the only thing that mattered in the room.

“Hello, Molly dear.  It’s so good to see you again,” Mrs. Hudson said as she gave Molly a hug and a kiss on the cheek.  “Sherlock, Molly’s here.  Say hello,” she ordered.

“Hello, Molly,” he mumbled, darting his eyes toward her for only a second before returning them to his phone, but his eyes were immediately pulled back toward her.  “Molly? You look...different.”  He narrowed his eyes to examine her more closely.  The red dress she wore was a bold choice but had been muted with a cream cardigan.  She wore lipstick to match her dress and her hair was more styled than usual, but it was more than just the clothing and the trimmings.  Something about her was definitely different, but he couldn’t identify what it was.

“Well, maybe it’s because you haven’t seen her for months and months,” Mrs. Hudson quipped.

“Eight months,” Sherlock corrected.

A blush crept across Molly’s cheeks.  Sherlock continued texting.  He hoped her pink cheeks meant she at least felt some guilt for abandoning him.

“You do look lovely dear.  That Irish air has done you some good, I believe.”

“Hmmm…yes, you do look...very...um...healthy,” Sherlock murmured, looking at her from head to toe.  He told himself to quit looking at her because he needed to push any thoughts of Molly in that red dress out of his mind immediately.  But instead, he watched as Molly’s blush deepened, spreading down her neck, as she fidgeted with the cuff of her sweater.  Sherlock returned his gaze to his phone but couldn’t stop his lips from curling into a grin as he remembered the night he discovered that Molly’s blush didn’t stop at her neckline.  

“So, did any handsome Irish lads sweep you off your feet?” Mrs. Hudson teased.

Sherlock forced himself not to look at her, his breath halting as he waited for her response.

“Oh no, Mrs. Hudson.  I was there for work,” Molly giggled.  “My boss, Dr. Stamford...Mike, arranged a six month visiting scholar position for me with a university in Dublin where I taught pathology for their medical students and worked with a team exploring early-detection methods for pancreatic cancer.”

Sherlock groaned involuntarily.

“Sherlock,” Mary warned, mistaking Sherlock’s groan to be related to his earlier disparaging comment about Molly’s teaching position.

What she didn’t know, what Sherlock hoped she’d never know, was that it had actually been a groan of jealousy.  Dammit!  He had missed Molly.  He missed working with her in the lab at Bart’s, he missed her pathological expertise when discussing cases with her, but, mostly, he had just missed her.  He missed seeing her, missed hearing her voice, missed her comforting presence, but he was still angry with her.  He was angry with her because she had just disappeared months earlier without even a good-bye.  Stamford had been the one who had told him where she’d gone and why.   _ Why hadn’t Molly told him? _  He felt a twinge of guilt, knowing that things had changed between them, and he couldn’t completely blame her for it, but it was easier to be angry with her.  Anger was an emotion he felt comfortable with, an old friend.  But when she stood there blushing and giggling, talking about medical research, and looking lovelier than he remembered, a very different emotion threatened to surface.

* * *

**_2 hours later (Molly)_ **

John and Sherlock had left to follow a lead on a case and had taken Mrs. Hudson home on their way.  Baby Watson was sleeping on a blanket on the floor beside the couch where Molly and Mary sat chatting.

“Good idea bringing this,” Mary said, raising her glass.

“Yep, I wanted to celebrate, but no alcohol until we’re done with breastfeeding,” Molly grimaced, taking the last swig from her glass.

“So, when do I get to meet your son,” Mary asked.  “I thought maybe you’d bring him with you today.”

“My brother is watching him.  He has three boys, so he’s better at this than I am,” Molly said, frowning slightly.

“Hey, no mom bashing allowed.  Raising a child is hard work, especially on your own, but, remember, you have lots of support.  I know you have your own family, but you have John and me too, plus Mrs. Hudson will dote on you hand and foot once she finds out.  And Sherlock too, if you want,” Mary encouraged.

“I know it’s silly of me to still be keeping this from Sherlock, but now it’s been so long that it’s awkward, and I don’t know how to tell him.”

“That’s why I was hoping you’d bring little Nicholas with you today.  You just need to pull the band-aid off, just get it over with and move on.  You don’t owe Sherlock any explanation, but keeping your son a secret isn’t healthy for you.  You’re causing yourself unnecessary stress, and you don’t need any more stress.”  
“Yes, you’re right,” Molly agreed.

“So how’ve you been holding up?

“I’m doing alright now...but I almost lost him Mary,” Molly explained, her eyes glistening with tears.  “He came six weeks too early.  It was a long and difficult delivery, and, when he finally arrived, he was so small...too small, but he was perfect.  He spent the first week in NICU but then we both came home and we’ve had the past few weeks to settle back here in London.  Oh Mary, I never knew I could love someone so much.  When I look at him sometimes I feel like my heart just might explode, I feel so happy.”

“Yes, I know what you mean,” Mary agreed, looking down at her own perfect angel.  “I thought this little one was never going to arrive.  She decided to camp out an extra two weeks in my womb before I had to evict her.”

“Thank you again, for asking me to be her godmother.”

“Of course, you and Sherlock had to be her godparents...and Mrs. Hudson.”

Molly’s lips turned up in a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.  She was thinking about Sherlock and herself acting as secondary parents...pretend parents...to this baby, but never being real parents to their own baby.

“So, have you decided whether or not you’re going to do the DNA test to find out who the father is?”

“I think I’ve decided that I don’t really want to know.  It doesn’t really matter who the father is.  Knowing won’t change anything.  All that matters is that he’s my son and I love him.”

“Being a single parent takes courage and strength, which you have in spades, Molly Hooper.  I admire you for it, but again, don’t forget, you’re not alone.”

“Thank you,” Molly said, squeezing Mary’s hand in appreciation.  “Do you want to see a photo?”

“Of course.”

Molly pulled out her phone and showed the screensaver to Mary.  “You know, I think he looks a bit like...I know it’s silly...but with those beautiful dark curls...”

“He looks like who?  Sherlock or Tom?”

“Like Sherlock, of course.” Molly scoffed.

“Because Tom doesn’t have dark, curly hair,” Mary asked incredulously.

“Well, yes, he does, but it’s different than Sherlock’s.”

“Really?  How so?”

“I don’t know,” Molly shrugged.  “It just is.”

“Molly, you don’t seriously think you’re going to be able to tell who the father is because your baby looks like the father?”

“Why not?”

“Seriously?  Your options are Tom and Sherlock.”

Molly continued to look confused.

“You might think your baby looks like Sherlock, but Tom looks like Sherlock, too.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“Yes, he does.  So, if your baby looks like Sherlock it might just be because your baby looks like Tom.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“You really don’t see it, do you?”

They heard the front door open.

“John,” Mary called out.  “John, come settle an argument between Molly and me.”

“Molly’s only just got back and you’re already arguing with her,” John laughed.

“Ha, ha,” Mary mocked.  “Anyway, answer a question for me.  Yes or no, does Tom look like Sherlock?”

“Tom?  Tom who?”

“Molly’s Tom.”

“He’s not my Tom.”

“Oh, ‘meat dagger’ Tom?” John said.

“Meat dagger?  What’s that supposed to mean?” Molly asked.

“Oh, it’s just a nickname Janine gave him after the wedding,” Mary explained.

“Sherlock too,” John added.

“Really?” Mary asked.  “You’ve heard Sherlock call Tom ‘meat dagger’?”

“Yeah, a couple of times.  He  _ really _ doesn’t like Tom,” John added with a snicker.

“Do you think he got it from Janine or she got it from him?”

“I don’t know.  Never really thought about it.”

“So what do you think about Tom and Sherlock?  Look alikes or not?” Mary brought the conversation back to her original question.

“Oh yes, definitely,” John answered.

“They do not,” Molly protested.

“Tall, slim, dark, curly hair, wears a long coat with a scarf.  Who am I describing?” Mary asked.

“Sherlock,” Molly answered.

“Nope, I was describing Tom,” Mary smiled with her whole face.

“No, no, no,” Molly disagreed.

“Sorry Molly, but she’s right.  Tom is a Sherlock look alike.  Everyone could see it except you.”

“Everyone?  Who’s everyone?”

“Us...Mrs. Hudson...Lestrade...Sherlock…”

“Sherlock,” Molly squeaked before covering her face with her hands.  “How embarrassing!  You must all think I’m a complete idiot.”

“No, not at all,” Mary assured.  “Molly, you just clearly have a type.”

Molly groaned, remembering the last man she’d dated before Tom.

“Speaking of sociopaths,” John continued jovially, “he played the violin for a bit today.”

“No,” Mary gasped.  “He didn’t?”

“He did.”

“What’s so interesting about Sherlock playing his violin?  He’s always plucking away on that old thing,” Molly commented.

“Not lately,” John said.

“Not since you left,” Mary added.

“What?”

“My wife has a crazy theory, but I didn’t really believe it until today.  Several months ago I noticed Sherlock’s violin had a layer of dust on it, which surprised me; because, as you said, he’s always plucking away at it.  But when I saw the dust I suddenly realized that I hadn’t heard him play it in quite some time.  Of course, I couldn’t remember when the last time was that I heard him play.  When I mentioned it to Mary, she was convinced that it had something to do with you leaving.”

“Me?  Why would it have anything to do with me?”

“That’s what I thought.  But here you are, first day Sherlock’s seen you in months, and today he’s playing his violin.”

“I knew it,” Mary crowed.

“It’s just a coincidence,” Molly replied.

“As Sherlock would say,  _ there are no coincidences _ ,” John disagreed.  “When I commented on Sherlock playing for the first time in a while, he admitted that he hadn’t touched it since the night of our wedding.”

“See, it is because of you,” Mary shouted gleefully.

“Or maybe he quit playing because it reminded him that his best friend got married and left him,” Molly suggested.

“Possibly, but I like Mary’s theory better,” John teased, leaning over to kiss his wife.

“Oh, you two deserve each other,” Molly said in disgust.

“I know,” Mary smiled, winking at her husband.


	6. Godparents with Human Emotions Part 2 (Sherlock & Molly)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Events take place during T6T

**_A week later (Sherlock)_ **

“Why weren’t you at the christening?” Sherlock demanded.

“Sherlock, what an unpleasant surprise,” Mycroft sneered from behind his desk.

“Look,” Sherlock shoved his phone at Mycroft.

“Why am I looking at this tiny human?”

“That’s her, John and Mary’s baby.  The christening was two days ago.  You weren’t there.”

“I don’t believe I was invited.”

“Of course you were invited.  Why wouldn’t you be invited?”

“Not really my area,” Mycroft said with a forced smile, attempting to hand the phone back to Sherlock.  “Although, this is the second baby of one of your friends I’ve been forced to view in the past 24 hours.”

“I don’t have any other friends...”

“I would usually agree, brother mine...”

“...with babies.”

“...but I ran into Miss Hooper…”

“ _ Doctor  _ Hooper!”

“...yes, Doctor Hooper...I happened to cross paths with her yesterday in the park during my lunchtime stroll.”

“Oh, getting your 10,000 steps a day to shed those extra pounds?”

“I was quite surprised to see Dr. Hooper pushing a baby carriage,” Mycroft continued, ignoring his younger brother’s taunting.

“It was probably Rosie.”

“Rosie?”

“Yes, Rosie. John and Mary’s baby,” Sherlock said pointing at his phone in Mycroft’s hand.

“This baby?” Mycroft looked at the phone.  “No, it wasn’t this baby.”

“How can you tell?  Babies all look the same.”

“True,” Mycroft agreed.  “I suppose that’s why parents go to such efforts to dress up their girls in pink,” he held up the phone with the photo of Rosie wearing a pale pink dress with a large, pink bow velcroed to her head as proof.  “And their boys in blue; and, in Dr. Hooper’s case, with the words ‘Mummy’s little man’ etched on their front.”

“So, maybe it wasn’t Rosie, but that still doesn’t mean it was Molly’s baby.  It was probably the baby of one of her other friends.  I’m sure Molly has plenty of friends with babies.  Or one of her nephews.  I’m sure I’ve heard her mention having several.”

“Well, I assume you would know since  _ you _ are one of her  _ friends _ .”

“Yes,” Sherlock quickly agreed although Mycroft’s words filled his mind with doubt.   _ Were he and Molly still friends?  Yes, of course they were. _  Sure, it may have been months since they’d worked together, but she was the one that left. She was the one who had been avoiding him since the night of John and Mary’s wedding.  He had been a good friend and respected her need for distance.   _ That’s what had happened, right?  Or had he been avoiding her, too? _

“Why are you here Sherlock?  Surely not to discuss babies.”

“No, of course not.  What do you know about Margaret Thatcher?”

* * *

**_Later that evening (Molly)_ **

Molly had just laid a sleeping Nicholas down in his crib when there was a soft knock on her front door.

“Sherlock,” she gasped, surprised to see the tall, lean detective standing on her doorstep.

“You’re surprised to see me?  Yes, it’s been a while...too long...since I paid you a visit, but you’ve been away recently and…”

“I’m not so much surprised to see you as I’m surprised you knocked, instead of just letting yourself in,” Molly cut off his rambling.

“Yes, well, it has been a while and things have...I didn’t want to presume...is it...is it alright if I come in?”

“Oh, ummm…” Molly hesitated, glancing toward the spare bedroom.  “It is getting a bit late…”

“I won’t stay long,” Sherlock promised.

“Fine,” Molly relented, opening her door wider and letting him pass through.  She knew she was taking a risk letting him in.  If Nicholas awoke, she would have a lot of explaining to do.

Sherlock walked across the room, whipping his head back and forth as if he’d never seen the room before.  Molly glanced around the room quickly, too, to see if there was any evidence of her newborn, but she had made a habit of keeping most of the baby’s things in the spare room and in the kitchen.

“Looking for anything in particular?” Molly inquired, not in the mood to play any of Sherlock’s games.

“No, no, just checking to see if you’ve made any changes...in decor since I was last here,” Sherlock explained before seating himself on the sofa.

“My decor?  Really?  Sherlock, why are you here?”

“Molly, I know things have been awkward between us since...since…”

Molly refused to finish the sentence for him.  She wanted to hear what he had to say without interrupting with her own presumptions.

“Well, I just...Molly, we are friends, aren’t we?”

“Did you seriously come here to ask me if we’re friends?”

“Yes.  No?  Well, you see, I’ve been thinking that maybe...with you being gone for so long…and after a recent conversation…and things have been... ” Sherlock began pacing around the room.

“A recent conversation with whom?”

“What?”

Molly stared back at Sherlock, refusing to repeat her question.  She knew he heard what she said; and, either he was avoiding the answer, or his brain needed to slow down to get back to what he had been rambling about only seconds before.

“Mycroft.”

“You had a recent conversation with Mycroft?  About me?” Molly squeaked, her palms suddenly began to sweat.  She had run into Mycroft just the day before while walking in the park with Nicholas.  She had felt panicked at first, but then decided she was overreacting.  She knew the brothers only spoke occasionally and usually only to discuss a case or to insult each other.  Surely Mycroft seeing her in the park with a baby would hardly be worth remembering, much less mentioning it to his brother, but apparently she had assumed wrong. 

“Not exactly.  I went to see him about the case I’m currently working on and he mentioned seeing you yesterday.”  Sherlock didn’t say any more.  He was watching her, waiting for her reaction.  

Molly realized that he was trying to deduce her and she hoped John was right about Sherlock having difficulties in that area.  She had been hiding some big secrets from Sherlock, which had been easier to hide due to their limited contact in the past several months.  Now that they were both standing in her flat, with her son sleeping in the next room, she also realized that she had taken it too far by keeping it a secret for this long.  Perhaps now was the time to tell him the truth, but just thinking about it caused her chest to constrict and her jaw to clench.

“Molly, I do hope we can still be friends.  I hope we...I hope I haven’t done anything to jeopardize that friendship.  You are important to me and if there’s anything you ever want to tell me...to discuss with me...I’m here for you.”  He had taken a step closer to her, had started to raise his hand toward her, but then clenched his fist and pulled it back to his side.

_ Just tell him! _ Molly’s head shouted.   _ Don’t do it!  Protect yourself!  _ Molly’s heart yelled back.

“Th...thank you Sherlock,” she finally stuttered.  “That’s means a lot...your friendship means a lot.  I’m sorry…”  
“No need to apologize.  The past is in the past.”

“Right, okay,” she nodded, looking away.  In that moment she finally let go of the last shred of hope, for a romantic relationship with Sherlock, she’d been holding on to.  Friendship was all he could offer, and she’d rather have that than nothing.

“I should be going.  Welcome back, Molly Hooper,” he smiled before opening his arms and giving her a genuine hug.

Molly was so surprised by this uncharacteristic gesture that she just stood there like a mannequin while he briefly embraced her.

“See you tomorrow,” he said as he stepped away from her and toward the door.  “I have some tests I need to run in the lab.  You’ll be there?”

“Yes, see you tomorrow.”  Molly waved as he stepped through her front door and closed it behind him.

Sherlock hadn’t been gone ten seconds before Nicholas gave a rather loud wail from the bedroom.  Molly went to check on him.  He needed a diaper change and he was hungry.  After taking care of those needs, she started to pace the room as she burped him.  Then she rocked him in her arms for a bit until he fell back asleep.  She finally laid him back down in the crib and stroked his dark curls.  Her life was a bit of a mess, but she knew this little one was a blessing she would never trade.  She pulled herself away from her son’s bedside, picking up the laundry basket on her way out of the room, deciding to throw a load in the washer before heading to bed.

“Whose child is that?”

“Sherlock!  Son of a biscuit, you scared the crap out of me,” Molly exclaimed, dropping the basket of laundry.

Sherlock sat in her high wingback chair, his fingers steepled under his chin.  “Whose child is that?” he repeated.

“Mine,” she answered simply, sitting down on the couch across from him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?  Why would you keep it from me?”

“Sherlock...I…we…” she stuttered, but she couldn’t find the right words to say.  A tidal wave of stress and guilt washed over her.  Her shoulders slumped forward and she began to sob.

Sherlock moved to sit beside her, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her to his chest.

“I’m sorry, Molly.  I didn’t mean to upset you.  Something Mycroft said earlier made me realize that I haven’t been as observant as I ought to be.  I haven’t been a good friend.  I’ve been too caught up in my cases, and I missed seeing that you’ve been in distress.  I will admit that I was selfishly happy that you and Tom broke it off, but I never imagined that he broke it off because he was a coward who walked away from his responsibilities.  But why would he break it off?  He was already planning to marry you, so why would an unexpected pregnancy change things?” Sherlock pondered.

At first Molly was touched by Sherlock offering a comforting arm and tender words.  It was so unlike him, she realized she hadn’t been as observant as she ought to be either.  Had he really changed so much in the months they’d been apart?  He seemed to be more open to expressing his feelings.   _ Where was this guy eight months ago? _ she wondered.  Her kind feelings towards Sherlock quickly changed to annoyance as he continued to speak, attempting to deduce Tom’s motives.   _ How can this brilliant man be so blind?  Did our night together meant so little to him?  Does he care so little for me that he is incapable of even considering that the child might be his? _  His ignorance enraged her.  She pushed him away from her and jumped up off the couch.

“Why do you assume that Tom broke it off?  Why don’t you assume that I’m the one that broke it off?  Because I did!  I’m the one who broke it off!  Tom is a good man, and he deserved to be with someone who loved him.”

“You didn’t love him?”

“No, I didn’t.  I thought I did, but I was wrong.  He was a good friend...a good boyfriend...I did care for him but...it wasn’t love.”   _ Because I’m in love with you, you idiot _ , she wanted to scream at him, but too many years of self-preservation kept her from saying what she felt.

“And the baby?”

“Tom doesn’t know,” Molly confessed, hanging her head in shame.

“But why would you keep it from him?  He’s the father...the baby is…”

“Is mine!” Molly cut him off, finally meeting his gaze once again.  She was amazed to see a new expression on Sherlock’s face, one she’d never seen before, it was a look of complete confusion.  He was out of his depth trying to understand all of the complicated emotions that were racing through Molly.

Nicholas began crying again.

“Just go,” Molly ordered before going to check on her son.

* * *

**_Even later that evening (Sherlock)_ **

“Sherlock, do you have any idea what time it is?” John grumbled as he opened the door wearing his pajamas.

“It’s 11:11,” Sherlock answered, glancing at John’s watch before stepping past him.

“What’s going on?” Mary asked, coming down the stairs, pulling on a dressing gown over her pajamas.

“Molly has a baby!” Sherlock announced. “Not just any baby, it’s  _ her _ baby.  Molly is a mother.  Mycroft saw her with a baby, and he knew...damn him...he knew it was hers.  But I didn’t know...I didn’t see it.  How could I have missed it?”

“Sherlock, what have you taken?” John demanded.

“What?” Sherlock stopped his pacing.

“Sherlock, you’re raving like a lunatic.  Have you taken something?  Are you using again?”

“No, I’m not using again!  I just came from Molly’s flat, and she has a baby,” Sherlock said, grabbing John by the shoulders and shaking him.

“Sherlock, calm down.  I think you might be in a bit of shock,” Mary said, putting an arm around him and guiding him toward the couch.  “John, put on the kettle.”

“Right,” John said, staring at Sherlock’s shaking hands and darting eyeballs.  “Should I call Mycroft?”

“Don’t call Mycroft!”  Sherlock shouted, jumping up off the couch.

“No one’s calling Mycroft,” Mary reassured, pulling Sherlock back down on the couch.  “John’s just going to make some tea, and we’re going to talk.  Everything’s going to be fine.”

John disappeared into the kitchen.

“Molly has a baby,” Sherlock whispered.

“Yes, so she finally told you?”

“What do you mean finally?”  He narrowed his gaze at her.  “You already knew about the baby, didn’t you?  How long have you known?”

“Yes, I know about the baby.  I’ve known for a while now.  Molly and I are friends…”

“Molly and I are friends...or I thought we were.  I thought you and I were friends too.  If you knew, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well…” Mary hesitated.  “Molly asked me not to tell anyone…”

“Why would she do that?  Why would she want to keep it a secret?”

“Here you go mate,” John said, setting a cup of tea down on the coffee table in front of Sherlock.

“Did you know about Molly’s baby?”

“Umm, well, yeah,” John answered guiltily.

“Right, yes, I guess Mary would have told  _ you _ since you’re married…”

“Actually, I figured it out on my own,” John said proudly.

“You figured it out?  When?  How?”

“Remember when you were in hospital?”

“Yes, yes, when I’d been shot by Mary.”

“Again, sorry about that,” Mary laughed nervously.

Sherlock dismissed her apology with a wave of his hand.

“Molly was visiting you in hospital, and you thought she was ill, but she was obviously pregnant.”

“Not obviously!  I didn’t notice.”

“Well, you’d been shot, so you weren’t your...normal...self.  Plus, when it comes to Molly you often don’t…”

“Don’t what?”

“You often miss the obvious.”

“I do not!”  But even as he said it, he realized that John was right.  “I don’t understand!  Why would she keep it a secret from everyone?  Well, everyone except you two apparently!  Why would she keep it a secret from the father?  Well, he is a bit of an idiot, so maybe she doesn’t want him influencing her son; but, genetically, what’s done is done.  Or maybe she just doesn’t want the father in her life.  She said she didn’t love him, but she did agree to marry him...she had sex with him...why not hold him accountable to the consequences?  More than that, why deny a man the right to be a part of his son’s life?  I mean, maybe if the father was a drunk or a bully or some other type of miscreant, but Tom seemed a decent enough bloke.  And you two?  Why agree to keep Molly’s secret?  And from me?  Haven’t we been friends longer than you’ve been friends with Molly?  You met Molly because of me.  In fact, I’ve been friends with Molly longer than I’ve been friends with you.  So why would she keep it a secret from me?  Why would she choose to raise this baby on her own?  Why wouldn’t she want Tom to raise his own son?”  Sherlock looked at John expecting an answer.

“Well, you said that Molly said she didn’t love Tom,” John reminded him.

“So?  She didn’t have to marry him.  Doesn’t he deserve to know he has a son?  Why would she keep it from him?  It doesn’t make any sense.  The Molly I know wouldn’t do something like this.”

“Sherlock, I really think you should be asking Molly these questions.  Not tonight, of course, and, perhaps, after you’ve had some time to calm down a bit,” Mary suggested.

“You know something,” Sherlock deduced, turning his x-ray gaze on her.  “What are you not telling me?  And it’s something you haven’t told John either.”

“What?” John turned to her in surprise.

Mary shook her head at him reassuringly before turning back to Sherlock and putting a hand on his shoulder.  “Sherlock, you don’t need me to tell you anything.  You already know the answer to your questions.  You just need to stop being an idiot and think.”

“I am thinking!  I’m always thinking!”

“Really?  You’re dancing all around it, but you’re missing the obvious.  John, I think you’re right about Sherlock being a bit obtuse when it comes to Molly.”

“I am not obtuse!  I have never been obtuse!”

“Ok, I’m going to ask you one question, but that is the last thing I’m going to say about this subject.  I made a promise to Molly, and this may border on a betrayal of that promise, but you’re my friend too Sherlock, and you’re being an idiot right now.  So I want you to really concentrate when I ask you this question.  Got it?”

Sherlock nodded.

“Can you really think of  _ no reason _ why Molly wouldn’t tell  _ Tom _ about this baby?”

Sherlock stared back at her blankly for a few seconds, but suddenly his eyes widened.  “Oh, bloody hell,” Sherlock groaned, finally understanding how truly blind he’d been.

“What?” John demanded looking back and forth between Sherlock and Mary.  “What am I missing?”

* * *

**_3 days later_ **

“The baby is most definitely yours,” Mycroft confirmed over the phone.

“Thank you,” Sherlock replied.

“How did this happen?” Mycroft asked with a clear tone of disapproval.

“Surely you don’t still need an explanation about the birds and the bees, brother mine,” Sherlock mocked.

“Oh grow up Sherlock!  What are you planning to do?”

“I don’t know,” Sherlock snapped, hanging up the phone.

“Mycroft?” John asked.

“Yes.”

“And?”

“It’s mine.”

“And?”

There was a knock on the door and Stella from Interpol walked in.

“Borgia Pearl...boring, go, GO!” Sherlock pushed her out of the door.  

Lestrade walked in.

“This better be good.”

“Oh, I think you’ll like it,” Lestrade said, presenting a sealed bag with another smashed Thatcher bust.


	7. Heartache & Loss (Molly)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Events take place at the end of T6T

Molly was startled awake by the sound of her front door creaking.  A scream died in her throat as she recognized the familiar frame of the man standing in her bedroom doorway.

“Sherlock?” she asked, sitting up and glancing at her bedside clock, which read 1:34 a.m.

There had been a time when Sherlock showing up in her bedroom in the middle of the night wasn’t a surprise.  It had never been anything romantic or sexual.  He had just needed a place to rest and a place to think.  He’d told her once that her flat was the perfect sanctuary where no one would think to look for him.  She wasn’t sure if he’d meant it as a compliment or an insult, with Sherlock it was always hard to tell.

It had been more than a year since he’d entered her bedroom, and she was unsettled by this unexpected appearance.  He stepped toward the bed and sat down next to her.  His body shook with silent tears.

“What’s wrong?”

“M...Molly,” his voice trembled.  “Sh...she’s...she’s gone.”

She didn’t know who he was talking about, and a voice inside her head warned her that she didn’t want to know.  Her stomach knotted up, and she swallowed the wave of nausea that hit her.

“It’s all my fault,” he groaned, wrapping his arms around himself as he began to rock forward and backward at the waist.

Molly pulled him into her arms, resting his head on her chest.  She whispered words of comfort in his ear as she stroked his back with one hand and lightly gripped the curls at the nape of his neck with the other.  She had no idea what had happened, but she knew he would tell her in his own time.  For now, she knew, she just needed to keep him safe.

Two hours later, Sherlock was sound asleep in her bed, still wearing his Belstaff and his shoes.  When Nicholas cried for his next feeding, Sherlock didn’t even stir.  Molly pulled herself out of the bed to attend to her son.  After she’d fed him and burped him, she sat in the rocking chair and rocked him back to sleep, humming to him softly and stroking his dark curls.  These peaceful moments were what now sustained Molly during her sad times.  She wondered if it would bring comfort to Sherlock’s aching heart if he held this child in his arms, this child that might be his.  Molly’s eyes stung with guilt as she laid her son back in his crib.

“Is he ok?” Sherlock mumbled when she crawled back in bed.

She wasn’t sure if he was actually asking about Nicholas or just talking in his sleep.  She waited to see if he said anything else, but she only heard his steady breathing.

She finally dozed off again when her phone began to vibrate on her bedside table.  She looked at the clock with bleary eyes and could only make out a four.  She closed her eyes, but the phone vibrated again.

“Hello,” she answered.

“Is he there?”

“Mycroft?” Molly pulled the phone away from her ear to read the screen.  It read  _ blocked number _ .

“Yes, is Sherlock there with you?”

“Yes.”

Mycroft’s sigh of relief buzzed in her ear.

“Is he all right?”

“He’s sleeping,” she whispered, glancing to check that he was indeed still asleep.

“Has he told you what happened?”

“No.”

“Yes, I should have known.”

Molly waited.

“I regret to inform you that Mary Watson was killed this evening.”

“No...no...it can’t...it can’t be true,” Molly cried out; but, even as she said it, she knew it was true.  “How...how…” she gasped, unable to utter the question in her head.  Tears began streaming down her face.

“Someone attempted to shoot Sherlock, and Mrs. Watson saved his life,” Mycroft explained with no emotion in his voice.

Molly felt the phone pulled from her hand.

“Hello, dear brother.  Tracked me down, I see.  Couldn’t wait to share the devastating news?  Please don’t call this number ever again!”  He threw the phone across the room.  “Oh sorry,” he apologized, scrambling out of the bed after the phone.

“Wh...what about...J...John?” Molly struggled to get the words out.  She knew she was on the brink of hysteria.  “And...and Rosie?”

Sherlock handed her phone back to her but she immediately threw it across the room.  She jumped out of the bed, pushing Sherlock out of her path, and started grabbing things off of her dresser and throwing them against the wall.

“Molly, stop,” Sherlock called out, ducking from the debris that shattered around him.  He grabbed her wrist with one hand and pried the hairbrush away from her before she could throw it.  When he released her wrist, she balled her fists and pounded them against his chest.  The pain inside of her exploded into a rage that was determined to destroy anything in her path.  Sherlock took the blows for several seconds before finally taking hold of her clenched fists and holding them steady against his chest.  Molly could see her own sorrow mirrored in his eyes.  She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, her heart pounding in her ears.  Then she felt Sherlock’s lips press against hers.  His lips were soft and salty.  She parted her lips ever so slightly, caressing his lips with small, gentle kisses, inviting him to respond.  His lips parted with a soft moan, and he leaned into her, kissing her gently and deeply.  Molly pulled her hands from his, snaking them up into his hair, pulling him closer, kissing him deeper.  Sherlock’s arms slid around her waist, pulling her body tightly against his, lifting her slightly off the ground.

“Stop,” Sherlock suddenly shouted, pulling his lips away from hers, pushing her body away from his.  Molly stepped toward him, sliding her hand up his heaving chest, not wanting to lose contact.

“We can’t...I can’t...I shouldn’t have…” Sherlock gasped, taking another step backward.

Molly reached a hand out to him, silently pleading.

Sherlock took a half step toward her, his fingertips brushing her wrist, and then he turned, his coat swooping like a cape, and he ran out the door.

* * *

**_3 days later_ **

Molly stood off to the side of the visitation room holding Rosie.  The other guests had already moved into the chapel.  John stood next to the coffin whispering a final goodbye to his wife.  Molly’s eyes burned as she watched him gently close the coffin lid.  She squeezed the little girl in her arms tighter, aching for the loss that Rosie didn’t understand.

John walked toward Molly, his shoulders back and his spine straight, always the soldier.  He kept his arms at his side, his fists clenched.  He hadn’t held Rosie since Mary died.  Molly and Mrs. Hudson, as co-godmothers to Rosie and as John’s friends, had taken turns watching Rosie and supporting John as he made the funeral arrangements.  After the funeral service, Mary would be cremated.  John planned to bury her ashes in his family plot where his mother and father were buried.

The staff from the funeral home wheeled the closed coffin into the chapel.  John followed the coffin.  Molly, with Rosie, followed him.  John sat down in the front pew where Mrs. Hudson was already seated.  She wore a large black hat and dabbed at her eyes with a white handkerchief.  When she saw Molly, she immediately reached for Rosie.

Molly sat down in the empty spot between John and Mrs. Hudson.  Someone from the row behind her squeezed her shoulder.  She turned to see Greg Lestrade.  She smiled at him and patted his hand before he removed it.

“Where’s Nicholas?” Mrs. Hudson whispered.

“My sister-in-law is watching him today,” Molly explained.

Molly had finally told Mrs. Hudson about her son when she’d shown up at John’s house to find Molly caring for two babies instead of one.  Mrs. Hudson had scolded her a bit for keeping secrets, but had quickly forgiven her, saying life was too short to be offended for long.  She’d fallen in love with Nicholas immediately; and, more than once, commented about his lovely, dark curls that he must have gotten from his father.

“Have you seen Sherlock?” Molly asked.  She hadn’t seen or heard from him since he’d left her flat three days earlier.

“No, but he’s there.  I hear him shuffling about in the middle of the night, but I haven’t seen him.  He hasn’t touched any of the food I’ve left out for him.  I knocked on his door this morning and reminded him today is the funeral.  I told him he should come, that his friend would want him there, even if he says he doesn’t.”  Mrs. Hudson glanced at John, but John stared straight ahead, unaware of the conversation going on next to him.

Molly’s heart ached for John, ached for the loss of her friend Mary, but she was also heartbroken about the rift between Sherlock and John.  She knew Sherlock should have been the one sitting next to John instead of her, but John was too full of anger and grief.  He blamed Sherlock for what had happened, and she knew Sherlock blamed himself.  She hoped and prayed that time would heal the divide between them.

“Sherlock just slipped in the back door,” Lestrade leaned forward and whispered in her ear.

Molly sat there for a few seconds pondering what to do.  Just as the minister walked toward the podium, she popped up from the pew, muttering “ _ excuse me” _ to no one in particular, and walked briskly down the aisle to the back of the room.  John didn’t notice her departure.  His eyes were focused on the coffin, his mind a million miles away.

As the minister introduced the service, Molly stepped into the spot next to Sherlock.  She stood as close to him as possible without touching him.  He leaned against the back wall, dressed in a dark blue suit with a dark blue button down shirt.  He didn’t look at her or speak to her; but, after a few seconds, he reached for her hand and laced his fingers with hers.

When the service ended with the minister’s final  _ amen _ , Sherlock released her hand and the warmth between them was immediately replaced by an icy chill.  He darted out the door before anyone else even had a chance to stand up.  Molly glanced toward John and Mrs. Hudson and Rosie, feeling the pull of duty, but then ran out the door after Sherlock.

“Sherlock, wait,” Molly called as she caught up to him on the sidewalk outside the church.  “Don’t go, please?”

He stopped, turned to look at her, met her eyes, and then looked skyward, blinking rapidly.  “I shouldn’t have come.”

“Nonsense!  Mary was your friend.  You have as much right to pay your respects and mourn her loss as anyone.”  Molly wanted to touch him, to hold him, to offer comfort through physical touch, but she hesitated.  Even though he’d initiated holding her hand just moments earlier, she still felt the sting of his rejection of her physical touch three nights earlier.

“I don’t think Mary’s husband would agree,” he said through clenched teeth, attacking the tear that slid down his face with the palm of his hand.

“He just needs time.  His anger is a natural part of the grieving process, but it won’t last forever.  He’s lost right now…”

“Lost,” Sherlock interrupted her with a sorrowful chuckle.  “Yes, I understand feeling lost.   I made promises that I failed to keep.  John should hate me.  I hate myself.”

“Sherlock, I’m worried about you.  These feelings of self-hatred might...they might…”

“Molly,” he warned.  She knew he was on the brink of telling her to shut-up.

“Just promise me you won’t do anything to harm yourself.”

“Molly, I could never think of killing myself.  How could I throw away the life that Mary saved?”  More tears escaped down his face, but this time he let them fall.

“I know you wouldn’t…I know you wouldn’t harm yourself intentionally, but there are other ways you’ve harmed yourself in the past…”

“Ah, worried about my drug habit?”

Molly nodded.

“I promised you the last time was my last time,” he said, looking her in the eye.

“Yes, you did, and don’t you forget it.”  She knew, in that moment, he meant it, but she also knew that a drug addict’s habits could override his best intentions at any given moment.

“Yes, perhaps, that is a promise I can keep.”  He broke eye contact with her, sucking in a deep breath in an effort to control his emotions.

“Sherlock, I really think you should talk to someone.”

“I’m talking to you right now, aren’t I?”

“I mean a professional, a therapist.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Sherlock, you’re a brilliant man, but when it comes to emotions you’re a complete idiot.  And don’t look so offended, you know it’s true.   _ Sentiment is a chemical defect _ ,” she finished by lowering her voice a couple of octaves.

“Was that supposed to be an impression of me?  That was terrible,” he teased, smiling at her.

Molly’s heart leapt, seeing him smile.  “Seriously, Sherlock.  I really think it could help.  John met with a therapist for a while after he got back from Afghanistan, and then when...um...when you died.”

“That’s right.  What was her name?”

“Dr. Thompson.”

“Right, Dr. Ella Thompson.  Graduated from the University of Westminster, been practicing for nine years now.  She’s the one who encouraged him to start his little blog,” Sherlock rattled off the list of facts he had stored in his brain.

“Yes, I suppose so,” Molly commented, only knowing the last fact he’d stated for sure.

“Is he seeing her again?”

“No, but I’m sure he will.  It’s only been three days but…”

“Molly, you’re brilliant,” he exclaimed, grasping the sides of her face and kissing her forehead.  “She’ll know what to do about John.”

“What?  Sherlock, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Why not?  She worked with him for months.  She can tell me how to fix this.”

“John was her patient.  She can’t tell you anything about him.”

“Well, maybe not directly, but I have my methods,” he said with a mischievous look before turning on his heels and pulling his phone out of his jacket pocket.

“Sherlock, there are dozens of other therapists in London.  You should probably pick any one of them instead,” she said, following him across the parking lot.

“Not now, Molly,” he dismissed her as he opened the car door of an awaiting cab.

“Sherlock,” she called out to him, but he was already talking into his phone.

“Hello, Dr. Thompson, my name is Sherlock Holmes.  Do you have any appointments open this afternoon?  Wonderful.  I’ll be there in ten,” he said before he closed the cab door.


	8. Broken Vows (Sherlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Events take place during TLD

“Did you remember my coat?” Sherlock asked when Molly stepped into the ambulance.  He was already stretched out on the gurney, eyes closed, his fingers steepled under his chin.

“What do you need your bloody coat for?  You’re burning up,” Molly growled, her palm pressed against his forehead.

“Keeping up appearances...I’m Sherlock Holmes,” he answered, opening one eye to look at her.

“Here’s your damn coat,” she said, picking it up from the jump seat behind her and throwing it at him.

“Thanks,” he said, rolling it up and putting it under his head like a pillow.

“John says you’re using again,” Molly glared at him, her arms crossed, her hands tightly clenching her forearms.

He closed his eyes and wondered if she was trying to restrain herself from slapping him again.  Part of him wanted her to slap him, because he knew he deserved it.  He deserved it for many reasons, but especially for breaking his promise not to use drugs again, but he now had a bigger promise to keep.  He opened his eyes again to see her still standing there glaring at him, her nostrils flaring slightly.

“It’s for a case!” he shouted, as much to himself as to Molly.  He turned on his side, unable to bear the look of disapproval on Molly Hooper’s face.

“For a case?  Of course it’s for a bloody case!  It’s always for a case, because what could be more important than a case?”  Molly scoffed as she rummaged through the overhead bin.  “I don’t even know why I’m bothering with this.  I can tell just by looking at you that you’re killing yourself.”

“Oh, calm down Molly, no need to get so upset.  It’s all going according to plan,” Sherlock explained, sitting up and facing her.

“This is all according to plan is it?  What plan?  Your plan to chase Mary into the afterlife?”

Molly’s comment stung just as much as if she’d physically slapped him across the face.

“This is for Mary...I’m working on a case for Mary,” he finally said.

“A case for Mary?  You really have lost it this time!”

“Ready?” the ambulance driver asked.

Molly nodded, sitting down in the jump seat across from Sherlock.  He turned his back to her, rolling up into a fetal position, not wanting to discuss his current condition any longer.

The ambulance doors slammed shut, and a few seconds later they were bouncing down the street toward the address Sherlock had supplied two weeks earlier.

“Where’s your list?”  Molly asked.

Sherlock pulled a folded piece of paper from the pocket of his dressing gown and held it up in the air.  Molly immediately snatched the paper out of his hand.  A few seconds later he heard Molly’s gasp of horror.

“How long?”

“About two weeks,” he confessed.

“Two weeks?  So, right after you asked me to show up with this ambulance...you…lie on your back,” she ordered.  Once he rolled over on his back, she sat down on the edge of the gurney next to him.  She pulled a penlight from her pocket and flashed it in each of his eyes.

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut in protest and rolled away from her.  Molly grasped his shoulder firmly and rolled him on his back again before pressing a stethoscope to his chest.  “Your eyes are bloodshot, your pupils are dilated, you have tremors in your hands, your heartbeat is erratic…”  She took a deep breath before speaking again.  “If you’ve really been taking what’s on this list...how are you even conscious?”  

“Molly...”  Sherlock covered her hand, the one holding the stethoscope against his chest.

“Take your shirt off,” she ordered, pulling her hand out from under his and throwing the stethoscope around her neck.

“Are you trying to seduce me Miss Hooper?” Sherlock attempted to flirt to lighten the mood.

“Doctor Hooper,” she snapped, holding up the blood pressure cuff.

“Is that really necessary?  Everything will be fine, trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

“Trust you?” she laughed.

“You can, you know.  You can trust me with...with anything.”  He forced himself to meet her gaze, refusing to break eye contact this time, searching her face in an effort to deduce whether or not she understood what he was implying.

With everything that had happened over the past few weeks, he’d briefly forgotten...no, not forgotten...he’d ignored Mycroft’s news about Molly’s son.  He ignored it at first because he didn’t know what to do about it.  Then he ignored it because he was distracted with the case, the case that resulted in Mary’s death.  The ensuing grief had been another reason to ignore the truth.

“We’re friends, remember?  If there’s ever anything you wanted to tell me...”

“What could I want to tell you that you don’t already think you know?  You’ve never been one to keep your deductions to yourself.  So why don’t you tell me what it is you think I’m not telling you?”  She stood up and shoved the blood pressure cuff and the stethoscope back into the overhead bin and slammed it shut.  She sat back down on the edge of the gurney, crossed her arms, and stared at him, waiting for his response.

He wouldn’t force her to tell him the truth.  He wanted her to want to tell him the truth.  He couldn’t bring himself to be angry with her for lying to him.  He knew she must have her reasons for not telling him.  He closed his eyes and pondered what those reasons might be, and he kept circling back to the day he’d stopped by John’s house two days after the funeral.  Dr. Thompson had advised him to give John time, but he couldn’t stay away.  He needed to do something, it was driving him mad.  Molly had answered the door holding Rosie.  Her warm eyes and kind smile were just what he’d needed in that moment, but then she gave him John’s message:   _ He said, he’d rather have anyone but you...anyone. _

“Anyone,” Sherlock whispered.  John’s words in her voice had replayed in his head a thousand times since that day, replayed until he’d started to believe they were her words too.  Perhaps the reason she hadn’t told him about his son...their son...was because she would rather have anyone but him.

“Wake it up!” Molly shouted, patting him, not so lightly, on the face.

“I’m awake,” Sherlock growled, grabbing her hand and sitting up.

She jerked her hand free and turned her face away from him.  

“You know, I care for you very much,” he whispered.

“If you care for me, then stop this!  Whatever this is...whatever it is you’re doing, it’s not worth it...nothing is.”

“Some things are,” he disagreed, gently grabbing her chin and turning her face back toward him.  Her brown eyes glistened with unshed tears.  He cupped her cheeks between his hands and leaned in closer to her, close enough to feel her breath on his lips.  When she didn’t pull away, he closed the distance between them, covering her lips with his.  Her body sunk into his, her arms slid around him, and her fingers slipped into his hair.  A soft moan escaped Molly’s lips as he began to kiss down her neck.  Then he unbuttoned the first button on her shirt and kissed her left collarbone, and then her right collarbone, before trailing kisses up the other side of her neck and returning his lips to hers.  He kissed her with a hunger he hadn’t felt since the first time they’d kissed.  He lay back down on the gurney, pulling her down on top of him, but then the ambulance gave a jolt, and Molly rolled off the gurney and onto the ambulance floor.

“Sorry about that...hit a speed bump.  Everything ok back there?” the ambulance driver called back.

“Fine...everything’s fine,” Molly said with a ragged breath, still lying on the floor.

Sherlock reached down to help her up.

“Don’t,” she said, swatting his hand away.

Sherlock lay back down on the gurney, listening to Molly gasp for air while he tried to catch his own breath.  After several seconds, Molly finally picked herself up off the floor and sat in the jump seat.

“You have no right kissing me like that,” she accused, not meeting his gaze.  “You have no right to kiss me, unless you mean it.  You said we’re friends but this...this isn’t what friends do.  You can’t just kiss me whenever you’re sad to make yourself feel better.  You can’t just kiss me and not expect me to feel anything...to hope for anything…to hope for more.”

“Molly, I...I do care for you, but what you’re hoping for is impossible.  Surely you can see that.  Surely you can see that I’m not capable of anything more.  I can’t make you any promises or keep any type of vow.  I can’t promise you love or faithfulness or protection.  I can’t protect anyone.”

“You protect people all the time.  You solve crimes, you capture criminals, you save the world from their future misdeeds.”

“Yes, yes, I sometimes save strangers, but I destroy anyone I care about...anyone I get too close to...I made a vow to Mary...to John...and I broke that vow...I failed.  I don’t want to fail you too.”

“So, this is what this is all about?  Some kind of penance for Mary?  You’re punishing yourself beyond what you deserve.  It won’t bring Mary back.  Stop this now, please?”

“I can’t stop.  I have to see it through.  I can’t explain it to you now, but I promise I will when it’s over.  I’ll explain everything, and you’ll understand.  I need to do this for John...and Mary...and you.  Trust me!”

“We’re here,” the driver called out from the front of the ambulance.

Molly stood up and pushed the doors open.  She sat down on the bumper of the ambulance and watched John step out of a limo to join them.


	9. New Beginnings (Sherlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Events take place post TLD / pre TFP

Sherlock strode into the cake shop with John on his heels.

“Ah, there’s the birthday boy,” Greg Lestrade called out from a table in the corner where he sat with Molly.  He stood up to shake Sherlock’s hand and pulled out a chair with a balloon tied to it.

“Happy Birthday Sherlock,” Molly said as he sat down, leaning in to give him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“People are definitely staring,” John complained, as he joined them.  “You had to wear the hat.”

“I think the hat is sexy,” Molly defended.

“Thank you Molly,” Sherlock smiled.

“The hat or the man wearing the hat?” Greg teased.

Molly blushed but didn’t respond.

“Now I know why you wore the hat,” John whispered, giving Sherlock a wink.

“Oh shut up,” Sherlock hissed, pulling off the hat and shoving it in his coat pocket.  “So where’s the cake I was promised?”

“Well, I ordered cupcakes instead,” Molly said, motioning to the table next to them, which held a large plastic container filled with a dozen cupcakes.  “Each one is different, so I thought we could cut them up and sample, unless anyone has a favorite they want for themselves.”

“Let the sampling begin.  Doctor’s orders,” Sherlock said enthusiastically, removing his coat and tucking a napkin in his shirt.

“Which one would you like to start with?” Molly asked.

“I’ll let you choose.”

“OK, let’s start with the Bee Sting,” she said, picking up a cupcake with yellow icing.

“The what?” Greg asked.

“The Bee Sting.  It’s a vanilla cupcake with a lemon curd filling and lemon cream cheese icing.  It’s one of my favorites,” she explained as she carefully divided it into four pieces.

“Sounds delicious,” John said, passing forks around the table.

“It is delicious,” Sherlock said after taking his first bite.

“So where’s Rosie?  I thought you’d have her with you tonight.  I haven’t seen her since...well, I haven’t seen her in a while,” Greg inquired.

“Rosie’s staying with a friend,” John said, glancing at Molly and then looking away.

“What friend?” Sherlock asked, looking back and forth between John and Molly.

“Um…” John hesitated.

“Rosie’s at my brother’s house, the one who lives in Camden,” Molly explained.

“Yes...um...Molly’s sister-in-law’s been watching Rosie for me when I’m at work.”

“Oh, is she watching your son too?” Sherlock asked.

“What?” Greg nearly choked on his cupcake.

“Yes, Jenny’s been watching Nicholas since I went back to work,” she answered, giving Sherlock a death glare.

“But you’re not working now.  Why didn’t you bring him here with you?” Sherlock continued, feigning innocence.

“Wait, hold on...Molly, you have a son?” Greg asked.

“Yes,” she answered simply and then tried to change the subject.  “Are you guys ready for another cupcake?  How about carrot cake?” she suggested, picking up a cupcake with an orange carrot painted in the icing.

“How long have you had a son?  Why didn’t I know about this?  I thought we were friends.”

“Sorry...I...um...he’s six months old as of last week.  He was born while I was away in Ireland.  Would you like to see a picture?”  Molly offered awkwardly, fumbling for her phone.

Greg leaned in to get a closer look at the image on his screen.  “What’s his name?”

“Nicholas Scott Hooper.”

“Scott?  Isn’t that…oww...” John started but was cut off by Sherlock’s his heel stomping onto his big toe.

“He’s a handsome little lad,” Greg complimented.

“Yes, I think so,” Molly smiled, glancing briefly at Sherlock and looking away quickly when their eyes met.

“Well, I’d best be off.  I need to finish up a few things back at the office.  Loads of paperwork still to file for the Smith case.  Enjoy the rest of your birthday, mate,” Greg said, clapping Sherlock on the shoulder and nodding to John.  “I’ll be by Baker Street at 10pm to relieve you of your babysitting duties,” he added, before kissing Molly on the cheek.

“See you later,” Molly waved.

“I honestly didn’t know you hadn’t told him about your son,” Sherlock confessed as soon as the inspector was gone.

“It’s fine.  It was silly of me to keep it a secret in the first place, and now it’s just awkward trying to figure out how to tell people.  So, you did me a favor.  Greg’s one less person I have to worry about now.”

“Honestly, you should just stop worrying about it,” John suggested.  “The people you’re closest to know the truth, and you don’t owe anyone else explanations.”

“Yes, you’re right,” Molly agreed, selecting a chocolate cupcake and cutting it into thirds.

As they finished off two more cupcakes, John and Molly chatted about their children and actually planned a playdate at a library storytime later that week.  Sherlock silently observed.  Part of him was mesmerized seeing this side of Molly, the proud mother babbling about her son.  Another part of him was surprised to realize that Molly and John were actually friends, not just acquaintances through him.   _ When had that changed?  With the birth of their children?  After Mary’s death?   _ In fact, they’d clearly spent more time together in the past month than he’d spent with either one of them.  As he listened to John’s and Molly’s conversation, he suddenly recognized the fact that he’d kept Molly on the periphery of his inner world.  She was someone who was always there whenever he needed her; but, when he didn’t need her, he hadn’t given much thought to her or her life.  Once he admitted this, he realized this meant that he had been on the periphery of her life too.  He was someone she knew through work, someone she helped out on occasion, maybe someone she even cared for, but he wasn’t really a part of her life.  There was a time when that wouldn’t have bothered him, in fact, that was what he preferred, wasn’t it?

“Ready for another cupcake?” Molly offered.

“I’m out,” John answered, standing up and patting his stomach.

“Me too,” Sherlock agreed, standing up as well.  “We can save the rest for a sugar high again tomorrow.”

“That better be the only kind of high you have tomorrow,” John warned.

“Or the next day, or the day after that,” Molly continued.

“Yes, yes, bad Sherlock, no more sweeties for me,” Sherlock mocked as he pulled on his Belstaff.

“Happy Birthday mate,” John said, shaking Sherlock’s hand and pulling him in for a quick hug.  “And good luck with the babysitting duties,” he said to Molly.

“Same to you.  Thanks again for agreeing to watch Nicholas this evening.  I’ll be by sometime after 10pm.”  Molly stood to give John a hug before she began packing up the leftover cupcakes.

“Anytime...so long as the offer is reciprocal,” he smiled before heading out the door.

“Ready?” Sherlock asked, offering his arm to Molly.  She hesitated but then slid her hand around his arm.

“I really do love the hat,” she said, gazing up at him.

“I know you do,” he smiled down at her with a wink.

He was pleased when he saw her cheeks turn pink.

“So what should we do with the rest of our evening?  Are you working on any experiments?”

“No, no experiments right now, but it has been a while since I’ve asked for a gift from St. Bart’s.”

“Yes, thank goodness.”

“So how are things at St. Bart’s these days?” Sherlock inquired.  He listened attentively as Molly described some of the recent autopsies she’d completed. 

Once they arrived at 221B, Sherlock offered to make some tea.  Molly settled down on the couch and flipped on the TV.

 “There’s a CSI marathon on tonight.  Do you want to watch it and see who can disprove their medical data first?”

“Sure, maybe a little later,” Sherlock said, handing her a steaming cup and sitting down beside her on the couch.  He took a sip from his own mug before asking, “Can I ask you something?”

Molly turned off the TV and nodded her head before taking a sip of her tea.

“Why is John watching your son tonight?  Why didn’t you bring him here with you?”

“Sherlock, you’ve just got out of hospital.  You’re just barely coming off of the drugs you’ve been taking.  I’m here to keep an eye on you, to support you in that process, to help you avoid temptation, blah, blah, blah.  Nicholas would be a distraction to me, and having a baby here would be an annoyance to you.”

“Babies don’t annoy me.”

“Right,” Molly teased.

“Well, Rosie doesn’t, and I’m sure Nicholas wouldn’t either.  So, maybe next time you come to...visit, you could bring him with you.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” Sherlock countered.

Molly just stared at him over the rim of her tea cup, waiting for a better answer.

“Because you’re my friend and...and he’s your son, so I think I should get to know him, and he should get to know me.  Plus, you mentioned to John earlier that going back to work has been difficult, because you’re spending less time with Nicholas.  I don’t want to be the reason you spend even less time with him.  So next time you come over, you should bring him. ”

“Sherlock, I appreciate the offer.  You’re a good friend...”

“But not the kind of friend you want around your son.” Sherlock finished for her.

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

“So, Tom?” Sherlock asked, and Molly nearly choked on her tea.  “Do you see him anymore?”

“No,” Molly gasped, coughing to clear her windpipe.

“So, you’ve never told him about Nicholas?”

Molly shook her head and looked away guiltily.

“Why wouldn’t you want your son to know his father?” Sherlock asked without accusation.

“It’s complicated.”

“Is it?  How so?”

“I don’t think Nicholas’s father would want…”

“Don’t you think Nicholas’s father should decide what he wants or doesn’t want?”

“When have you ever cared what Tom wanted?” Molly snapped defensively.

Sherlock was caught off guard by her response.  Did she really not know that he was the father of her child?  Did Molly really believe Tom was the father?  As Sherlock entertained this possibility, Molly’s uncharacteristic deceit started to make more sense.  Maybe she hadn’t kept her son away from him because she didn’t want him to be the father, but because she really didn’t know he was the father.  On one level this realization made Sherlock happy, but the happy feeling quickly dissipated as he realized he couldn’t tell Molly he was her son’s biological father without revealing what he’d had Mycroft do or revealing that he’d known the truth for months and hadn’t done anything about it.

“Sherlock, please don’t look at me like that.  I know you don’t approve of my decision, but it is my decision,” Molly said, misreading the pained look on his face.  “I grew up in a home with parents who adored each other.  I was in college before I realized that not everyone was lucky enough to have parents like mine.  I had some friends who were really screwed up by their parents messed up relationships.  I swore then I would never marry unless I truly loved someone the way my parents did.  But, of course, I’m not getting any younger, and Tom was...is a nice guy, so I think I decided I loved him enough to make it work, perhaps because he was close enough to what I wanted,” Molly explained with a forced smile.

“But then you realized you didn’t really love him?”

“Right.”

“And what made you realize it?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Molly deflected.

“So you’ve never been in love?”

“Wow!  You’re getting deep tonight, aren’t you?  Is this always what you’re like when you’re coming off the sweeties?”

“Well, have you?”  Sherlock wouldn’t let her avoid the question.  He needed to know her answer.

“Yes…no...I don’t know…” Molly stuttered, not looking at him.

They both sat in silence for a while.

“I thought I was once,” she added, finally looking directly at him.  “Have you...have you ever been in love?” she asked nervously.

He could admit that he cared for Molly, cared for her more than he ever thought he could care for anyone, but he couldn’t say that he loved her.  His feelings for her weren’t the type of love that she said she wanted, like the love her parents shared, the type of love Molly deserved.  He didn’t think he was capable of loving anyone in that way.  That type of love required a level of trust, a level of vulnerability, risk, and bravery that was beyond anything he was willing to open himself up to; and, he knew, if he couldn’t love her completely and openly, he would slowly crush her soul.  He would destroy the Molly he knew and cared for, and he couldn’t bear to be the cause of any more of her pain.  He wasn’t used to living in a world of uncertainties.  He liked facts, he liked the science of deduction, of eliminating the impossible to discover the probable; and, so far, he couldn’t eliminate the possibility that he could...would be a complete failure as a husband and a father.

“You look sad.  What’re you thinking about?”

“What?” Sherlock snapped out of his reverie.

“What’re you thinking about?  Someone you once loved?” Molly asked tentatively. 

“No, no one,” he finally responded.

“So, have you ever been in love?” she asked again.

They locked eyes for several seconds and Sherlock felt the hair on his arms raise from the electricity he felt shoot between them before he shook his head and looked away.

* * *

**_An hour later_ **

Sherlock was stretched out on the couch pretending to sleep.  Molly was curled up in his chair reading a book.  He glanced at her occasionally through half-closed eyes and imagined what their life would be like if they had followed in Mary’s and John’s footsteps, and he was surprised to realize that he didn’t find the idea abhorrent.

“Knock, knock,” Greg called, tapping on the door as he entered the room.  “Tag, I’m it.  I’m here to relieve you, Molly.”

Molly stood up and stretched.  “You arrived just in time.  A few seconds longer, and you’d have found me snoring.”

“How’s he behaving?” he nodded toward the couch.

“He’s behaving just fine,” Sherlock announced.

“Lying in state I see?  Well, you’d better bugger off the couch because I’m not sleeping in your bed.  What would Mrs. Hudson think when she comes up in the morning for her shift on Sherlock watch?  I’ll tell you what she’ll think, she’ll think you’re cheating on John.”

“Not funny,” Sherlock huffed, picking himself up off the couch.  “Goodnight Molly.”  He paused in front of her, wanting to initiate a hug but not wanting to do so in front of Lestrade.

“Goodnight Sherlock,” Molly smiled at him, making no move to initiate a hug either.  “I’ll be back again day after tomorrow, same time as today.”

Sherlock nodded before exiting the room.  “Goodnight Grayson,” he called before slamming his bedroom door.

* * *

**_The next morning_ **

When Mrs. Hudson arrived to relieve the inspector, Sherlock returned to his spot on the couch and retreated into his mind palace.  He was only vaguely aware of who came and went through his door.  Mrs. Hudson grumbled about the messy state of the flat and tried to get him to help her tidy up.  He ignored her.  Mycroft stopped by for a while in the afternoon, reading a newspaper and not saying a word.  Then Mrs. Hudson was back, flipping channels back and forth between a daytime talk show and a home repair show until Sherlock lost his temper and ordered her to leave him in peace.  Lestrade showed up at some point asking for help with a case.  Sherlock glanced at the paperwork the inspector presented and identified the guilty party in less than sixty seconds.  He tossed the papers back at the inspector and told him not to waste his time with any more pity cases.

It could have been several hours or several days later when he opened his eyes again to find John standing over him.

“Did you hear anything I just said?”

“John, when did you get here?”

“I’ve been here for fifteen minutes.  You said hello when I walked in the door.”

“Really?”

“Have you really not been listening to me?  Why am I surprised?  Tomorrow I’m bringing another balloon, maybe a green one this time,” he grumbled, plopping down at the desk.  “What’s all this?” he asked, lifting the stack of papers piled on top of the laptop.

“Mail,” Sherlock answered, not bothering to even glance at John.

“When’s the last time you looked through this?”

“Unimportant.”

“Will it be important when they cut off your electric?” John asked, waving an envelope that was stamped “Second Notice”.

“Unimportant,” Sherlock repeated.

“What’s this?”

Sherlock opened one eye to peer at John.  John held a familiar white envelope in his hand.  Sherlock bolted up from the couch and snatched it from him.  He tore it open and pulled out a disc with the words  _ Still Miss Me? _ written on it.

“Bloody hell!” John exclaimed.  “She was my bloody wife, but she’s still sending  _ you _ messages from beyond the grave.”

Sherlock slid the disc into the laptop and stood next to the desk chair where John sat.  In a matter of seconds Mary’s face appeared on the computer screen.

“Ah, there you are, my two favorite boys, back together again.  Well done, Sherlock.”

“Son of a...how does she do that?” John exhaled, his mouth hanging open in awe.

Sherlock clenched his teeth and waited to see what Mary would say next.

“I’ve got a birthday present for you.  Am I too early? Or am I late?  I hope John takes you..took you out to celebrate.  I’m sure Molly will bring a cake.”

Both men chuckled.

“For your present, I’ve got another case for you.  I’ve got your attention now, don’t I?  This will be a difficult one, maybe even harder than the last one, but it doesn’t have to be, so long as you accept that I’m right, and you’re an idiot.”

John snickered.

“You’ve saved John Watson.  Now it’s time to save Sherlock Holmes.”


	10. Aftermath (Molly)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Events take place during and after the TFP

“I...I love you.  I love you.”

Molly pulled the phone away from her ear and read the name on the screen.   _ Had Sherlock really just said those words?  To her?  Why was he doing this? _

“Molly?”

She hesitated.   _ Why was it so hard for her to speak the truth?   _ She had suppressed her feelings for so long.  The thought of saying it out loud terrified her but, perhaps, it was what she needed to do in order to finally let it go and move on.

“Molly, please,” he begged.

She drew a deep breath and exhaled, “I love you.”

There was a click and he was gone.

“Sherlock?  Did you seriously just hang up on me?” Molly shouted at her phone screen.  She immediately hit the call button.  The call went straight to voicemail.  She called three more times with the same results.  “Bastard!  What kind of sick game...Ahhhh!”  She slammed the phone down on the counter.

Molly marched over to her coat closet and pulled out a folded up pushchair.  She struggled to unfold it, muttering a variety of expletives in the process.  Once she finally had it set up, she went to the spare bedroom to collect her son.  Nicholas whimpered when she lifted him up out of the crib.

“Shhh...shhh...shhh,” she said as she gently bounced him in her arms.  “I know it’s been a rough day.”  Nicholas was teething, which meant he hadn’t been sleeping, which meant Molly hadn’t been sleeping.  “We’re going to go for a little stroll.  Mummy needs to have a word with Mr. Holmes,” she explained as she strapped him into the chair.

Twenty minutes later Molly arrived at 221B Baker Street and was horrified to see the blown out windows and cracked facade of the building.  She pulled out her phone and scrolled through the list of contacts until she found the one that said  _ SOS _ .  It was a number Mycroft had given her five years ago.  He told her she’d proven herself to be a person of value to Sherlock by helping him fake his suicide, and then he told her to call that number if Sherlock were ever in danger again.

“Hello,” a woman’s voice answered.

“H...hello.  This is Molly Hooper.  I’m calling because I think Sherlock Holmes is in danger.”

“Thank you for calling, Dr. Hooper.  A car will pick you up in five minutes,” the woman on the other end of the call informed her.

“What?  Who is this?”

“You may call me Anthea.  I’m Mr. Holmes’ personal assistant.”

“Sherlock has a personal assistant?”

“No, I work for Mr. Mycroft Holmes.”

“Oh, right.  And why are you sending a car?”

“Get in the car and I will explain what I can.”

Molly stared at the black jaguar with tinted windows that pulled up next to her.  The driver popped out, stepped around the car, and opened the back passenger door.  A tall, slim woman with dark hair stepped out of the car gracefully.

“I’m Anthea,” she said, extending her hand.  “I was just on my way to your flat when you called.”

Molly shook her hand and then stood there awkwardly gaping at the beautiful woman.

“Philip can put the pushchair in the boot.  I’m afraid we don’t have a car seat but we don’t have far to go.”

“Oh, right,” Molly said, quickly fumbling with the belt holding Nicholas in the chair.

Anthea slid back into the car and Molly followed her, holding her son tightly in her arms.

“Do you mind?  I don’t have a free hand to buckle the seat belt,” Molly explained as she held out the sleeping baby to Anthea.

Instead of taking the baby, Anthea reached across Molly and grabbed her seat belt and buckled it for her.  Then she buckled her own seat belt before pulling a cell phone from her jacket pocket.  She began typing as the driver pulled away from the curb.

“Where are we going?” Molly finally asked.

“I’m taking you to a safe house near here.  Mrs. Hudson is already there.  Mr. Holmes’ parents are secure in a safe house in Sheffield.”

“What’s going on?  Where’s Sherlock?  What happened to his flat?” Molly asked, trying to suppress the panicked feeling that was threatening to suffocate her.

“Mr. Holmes, his brother, and Dr. Watson have been taken hostage.”

“What?  Why?  Where are they?  Who’s doing this?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not authorized to tell you more than that at this time.”

“That’s it?  But what’s being done to rescue them?”

Anthea gave her an apologetic smile but then just turned back to her phone without a word.

In a matter of minutes the car stopped in front of an office building in a part of London Molly had never been to before.  Two men in black suits exited the building to meet the car.  One opened the car door while the other retrieved the pushchair from the boot.  Anthea didn’t follow her out of the car.

“You’ll be safe here for now,” Anthea explained.  “I know it’s pointless to tell you not to worry, but you shouldn’t.  Everything is being done that can be, I promise.  Someone will be in touch, probably me, once things are resolved.”

Molly had a dozen more questions but she accepted the fact that she wasn’t going to get any answers, at least not yet.  She followed one of the men in black into the building, while the other followed her carrying the folded up pushchair.  They crossed the empty lobby and entered the elevator.  One of the men pushed the button labeled ‘LG’ and the elevator gave a jolt before moving downward.  They exited the elevator into a poorly lit, narrow hallway.  They turned down a second hallway, and then a third, before approaching a door with a security swipe system.  The first man pulled out a card and swiped it.  The door clicked open.  Molly suddenly felt the urge to run, her mind filling with doubts about who was really behind what was happening.

“Hello, Molly dear,” Mrs. Hudson called out as Molly entered the room.

At the sound of the familiar voice, the panicked feeling washed away.

“Mrs. Hudson,” Molly cried out in relief, stepping into the room.

The room wasn’t what Molly had expected.  It looked like a typical living room with a couch, two arm chairs, and a coffee table.  She walked over to where Mrs. Hudson was sitting on the couch and sat down beside her.  Mrs. Hudson pulled her into an embrace and she and her son both began to cry.

* * *

**_Seven hours later_ **

Mrs. Hudson, Molly, and their two guards, Mike and Jack, were playing a lively game of whist when Anthea walked through the door.

Molly stood up immediately, expecting the worst.

“They’ve been found,” Anthea announced.

Molly fell back down in her chair, her legs giving way.  Mrs. Hudson exhaled with relief, covering her mouth with her hands as tears of joy sprang to her eyes.

“Dr. Hooper, Mr. Holmes has requested that you come with me to meet them.  Mrs. Hudson, since your flat is not livable at the moment, you may remain here, unless you have somewhere else you would prefer to go.”

“You can stay at my place,” Molly offered, pulling her keys from her pocket and pressing them into Mrs. Hudson’s hands.  “Would you mind taking care of Nicholas until I get back?” she said, glancing at her son sleeping on the couch protectively surrounded by pillows.

“No, not all.  Go.  Bring my boys back to me safely,” she said, embracing Molly.

“Let’s go,” Anthea ordered.

Molly followed her obediently.

Once they were settled in the car, Molly watched out the window as they left London behind.  Soon she was lulled to sleep by the motion of the car.

“Dr. Hooper...Dr. Hooper,” Anthea’s voice pierced through the fog in her brain.

Molly bolted up but was pulled back against her seat by the seat belt.  For a brief moment she thought she might still be dreaming, but she quickly remembered the events from earlier that day:  the phone call, the blown out windows of 221B, the safe house, and wherever she’d been summoned to now.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“Yorkshire.  That’s Musgrave,” she answered, pointing to a large building in disrepair looming in the shadows ahead.  “This was where the Holmes family lived when they were children.”

“Why are we here?” Molly asked, confused.  Then, as they turned down the driveway, she noticed the flashing lights.  Several police cars and an ambulance were parked in front of the home.  As she stepped out of the car, she could hear a helicopter approaching.

“That will be Mr. Holmes,” Anthea informed her as she stepped out of the car and led the way.

As they approached the row of official looking vehicles, Molly’s eyes focused on two men, with their backs to her, standing side by side at a distance.

“Sherlock,” she whispered and then called out more loudly, “Sherlock!”

Both men turned around.

“Sherlock,” she called again, running toward him.

“Molly,” he called back.

She crashed into him, flinging her arms around him, and grasping him for dear life.  He staggered backward slightly as he caught her.

“Molly...why...how…” he stuttered as he gazed down at her in amazement.

“Sherlock,” she said his name again, cupping his face with her hands and staring up into his eyes.  He was alive and looked relatively unharmed.  Only hours before, she’d thought she might never see him again.  The terror she’d felt during the past several hours began to ease from her body.

“Molly, I...I love you,” he said to her for the third time that day.

“It’s ok, you don’t…”

“No, I mean it.  I love you, Molly Hooper.”

She hesitated only for a second before replying, “I love you too, Sherlock Holmes.”  She stretched up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his.  He responded immediately, pulling her in closer, lifting her off her feet.

“I love you...I love you...I love you…” he repeated between each kiss, twirling Molly around in the air before setting her back on the ground.  “I’m in love with Molly Hooper!” Sherlock shouted into the night air.

“You’ve created a monster,” John laughed.

Molly giggled and then Sherlock was kissing her again, first her lips, then her cheeks, and then her nose.  Molly giggled as she kissed him back, finding anywhere on his face for her lips to land.  They were like two over excited puppies.  Then their lips reconnected, first with short, gentle kisses that quickly grew in intensity.  Sherlock’s lips parted, inviting Molly in, and she let her tongue explore, tasting him.  She nibbled his lower lip and was greeted with a groan of pleasure.  Her hands also explored, trailing up his chest, across his shoulders, down his arms, up his back, feeling the muscles in his body.  She pulled herself even closer to him, easing her hands into his hair.  Her whole body tingled and she felt his hands exploring her every curve as well.

“Alright you two, knock it off.  I think you’ve forgotten that you’ve got an audience,” John interrupted.

Sherlock and Molly broke apart, laughing and gasping for air.  Their lips parted but they still held each other, foreheads pressed together, gazing dreamily into each other’s eyes.

“I love you,” Sherlock whispered.

“I love you,” Molly whispered back, resting her head against his chest and listening to his pounding heart.

“Mycroft,” John called out.  “Look at these two.  It’s incredible, isn’t it?  Wonderful, really!”

Molly stepped out of Sherlock’s embrace to turn and face Mycroft, but Sherlock pulled her back towards him.  She leaned back against him, his arms wrapping around her protectively.

“Sherlock can’t stop confessing his love to Molly now.  I think we may have slipped into a parallel universe,” John continued.

“Yes, how wonderful.  Perhaps Miss Hooper’s son won’t grow up fatherless after all,” Mycroft sneered.

“Wh...why are you saying that?  What does he mean by that Sherlock?” Molly stepped out of Sherlock’s embrace and looked back and forth between the two brothers.

“I think, brother mine, you have something else to confess to Miss Hooper besides your undying love.”

Molly looked back again at Sherlock, and, if looks could kill, Mycroft would have turned to ash on the spot.

“Sherlock?”

Sherlock caught her hands in his and looked at her pleadingly.

“Molly, please, don’t be mad…”

“Sherlock?” she said more forcefully.

“My...Mycroft had a DNA test done.”

“At your request,” Mycroft added.

“What?  You did what?”  Molly again looked back and forth between the brothers.

“I...I needed to know if Nicholas...if he was my son.”

Molly just stared back at him, not knowing what to say.  She jerked her hands free of Sherlock’s grasp and stepped away from him.

“Leave it to you, to break them up in less than sixty seconds,” John accused Mycroft.

“Me?  Isn’t it better that they start their...relationship...without any secrets between them?”

“Oh don’t pretend you are being helpful, you git!” John snapped.

“Hey guys, I’ve just received word that Eurus is safely back at Sherrinford,” Lestrade said as he walked up to join their group.

No one spoke for several seconds.  The inspector looked back and forth between the members of the group, unaware of the tension teeming between them.

“Thank you, Inspector,”  Mycroft finally spoke.

“I have a few more questions for my report, if you don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” Mycroft answered turning and walking toward Anthea and his waiting car.

“I’ll join you,” John offered, following Mycroft and the inspector.  He glanced back at Sherlock and mouthed  _ talk to her. _

“Molly,”  Sherlock spoke once they were alone.

She refused to meet his gaze.

“Molly, please?” he begged, reaching for her hands again.

“No,” she said, swatting his hands away.  “Just tell me…just tell me what the DNA test said.”

Sherlock looked down at his feet, took a deep breath, and then met her gaze once again.  “I’m Nicholas’s biological father.  He’s my son.”

“How long have you known?” she asked coldly.

“Three months.”

“Three months!” she shouted.  “You’ve known this for three months and you never said a word.  You never once thought you should share this news with me?”

“No...yes, I did think about it, but...but...well, at first, I thought you already knew and you were keeping it from me.  I thought you didn’t want me to be Nicholas’s father.”

“What?  Why in the world would you think that?”

“Why?  Are you seriously asking me why?” he snapped, the look of adoration disappearing from his eyes, replaced by a cold, accusing stare.  “You were pregnant and you kept it a secret from me...for the entire pregnancy!  What else was I supposed to think?”

“I...I…” Molly stammered, turning away from Sherlock’s harsh gaze.  She wrapped her arms around herself and tried to remember the reasons she hadn’t told Sherlock about the pregnancy.  “Janine!” she finally exclaimed.  “After...after what happened between us, you moved on pretty quickly.  I wasn’t going to force myself or my son on someone who clearly didn’t want us!”

“You’re one to talk!  The bed we slept in wasn’t even cold, and you were already crawling back to Tom!  You couldn’t have made it any more clear that you regretted what happened between us!  And then, when I found out about your son...found out that he was my son...and you hadn’t told me...well, that just confirmed it...confirmed that you didn’t want me in your life or your son’s life.”

“Sherlock, no...is that really what you thought?  Oh Sherlock, I’m so sorry,” Molly cried, stepping back toward him, reaching for his hand, but this time he pulled away.  “I didn’t know…I didn’t know which one of you was the father.  That’s not exactly the kind of thing a girl wants to go around announcing to everyone.  I could barely admit it to myself, much less anyone else.”

“You told Mary,” he accused.

“Yes, I told Mary.  I went to her for advice; and, do you know what she told me when I told her?  She told me to tell you the truth.  I should have listened to her, but I was afraid.  I was afraid; because, if the baby was Tom’s, then the father of my son was a man I didn’t love; and, if the baby was yours, then the father was a man who didn’t love me.”

“But I do love you,” Sherlock declared, taking a step toward her again.

“Yes, I know that now, but would you have been able to say that to me then?”

Sherlock reached out to her, brushing his thumb across her wet cheek.  “No, I wouldn’t have...I couldn’t have said it to you then.  I couldn’t have said it to you this morning.  I’ve spent a long time suppressing my emotions, for reasons I’m only beginning to understand.  Tonight, when I first said those words to you, when you made me say those words to you, in that moment, I realized those words were true and had been true for a very long time.  You slipped into my heart so gradually and gently that I wasn’t even aware that I was failing to put up my defenses to keep you out.”

Molly pressed her hand against his chest, over his heart, and then she took his hand and placed it over her heart.  “You’re in my heart, too,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his once more.

* * *

**_Two days later_ **

Molly had only been at work two hours that morning when the pathology lab door swung open.

“Sherlock, what are you doing here?  Do you already have a new case?” Molly asked, glancing up from her microscope.

“Yes, I’m here on a case, but it’s not exactly new.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mary gave me another case a month ago.  It was a birthday present, in fact.”

“Sherlock, have you added the ability to commune with the dead to your already impressive list of detective skills?” Molly teased.

“Um...no,” he said, clearly not understanding her joke.  “Mary sent me a DVD, maybe I’ll show it to you sometime.  She annoyingly, and correctly, told me I’ve been an idiot.”

“She did?  And you’re agreeing with her?” Molly exclaimed in disbelief.

“Yes, unfortunately, I must agree with Mrs. Watson on this point.  I’ve been an idiot!  But, luckily, she told me how to fix the problem.”

“Well, this does sound like an interesting case.  I can’t wait to hear more about it.”

“Oh, I think you’ll like it,” Sherlock teased, seating himself on the stool next to Molly and taking her hands in his.  “Mary told me that the way to save myself, to save me from my idiocy, was to take you on a proper date.”

“What?  She didn’t say that,” Molly laughed.

“She did!  She told me I needed to woo you.”

“Woo me?  Really?”

“Yes, she told me to do whatever it took to convince you that I love you.”

“I think this one might be an open and shut case,” Molly giggled.  “Although, the whole Sherrinford incident was a tad over the top.” 

“I didn’t...I explained to you that it was my sister...”

“Sherlock, I’m only joking.”

“You really shouldn’t make jokes Molly.”

“You really need to learn how to understand my sense of humor,” she teased, leaning toward him and kissing him.

Sherlock kissed her back for a few seconds, but then he took hold of her by her shoulders and gently pushed her away from him.  “Molly, don’t distract me with your seductive kisses.  I’m here to ask you on a proper first date.”

“Sherlock, we’ve known each other for years.  We have a son together.  Doesn’t it seem a bit silly to act like a couple who’s just met for the first time?”

“Ready for a proposal already, are you?” Sherlock grinned.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” Molly said, blushing from the roots of her hairline down to her neckline.

“Molly, I know you’ve had a lot of dating experience…”

“I wouldn’t say a lot…” she disagreed, drawing in a jagged breath, as Sherlock traced a finger along the collar of her jumper.

“But this is all new to me, and I don’t want to rush through anything.  I want to experience all of it with you.  I don’t want to miss any of the important milestones.  Besides, Mary said it should prove interesting research for me, and John says that these are the moments we can look back on later, when we question why we ever got together in the first place.”

“He didn’t say that,” she said swatting Sherlock’s arm.

“He did,” Sherlock laughed, and then he pulled Molly in for another kiss.

“Now who’s being distracting,” Molly said when their lips parted.

“My point is, I’m not going anywhere.  I’m in this for the long haul, as they say.  And I hope you feel the same way.”

Molly nodded.

“So, we have time.  Time to date.  Time to get to know each other even better.  Time to plan our future.  Time for me to deal with my emotional baggage.  I’m seeing Dr. Thompson, for real this time.”

“That’s wonderful,” she said, squeezing his hand in support.  “Ok, then I demand you comply with Mary’s request and woo me.  I need some woo!”

Sherlock chuckled.

“See, you’re already starting to appreciate my dorky sense of humor.”

“Yes, dorky is a good way to describe it.”  Molly gasped in offense and raised her hand to swat his arm again but he caught her hand instead and asked, “Molly Hooper, will you go on a date with me?”

“Yes, I would be delighted to go on a date with you, Sherlock Holmes,” she beamed at him.

“Ok, let’s go,” he said, hopping off his stool and tugging her after him.

“Now?  I can’t go now.  I’m working,” she giggled.

“Isn’t it time for your morning coffee break?”

“Yes, it is actually,” Molly said, looking at the clock on the wall.

“For our first date, I was wondering if you’d like to have coffee?” he asked with a wink.


End file.
